"IN HIS NAME" 

(POETRY AND PROSE) 



"Dea^fabente, iubantc, bolentc/ 



BY 

CAROLINE E. LAWRENCE INGERSOLL, 

Former pupil of Female Seminary, Washington, Pa., 

and grand-daughter of the Revolutionary 

Commander of Neu; York 

City, N. Y. 



Waynesburg, Pa. : 

Independent Job Printing Office, 

1903. 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGJ^ESR, 
One Copy Reof-iveb 

f^AR. : 1904 

0I,*8* «^ XXo. N«. 

coi^Y a. 






Copyright applied for. 



IN HIS NAME. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The writer in presenting the public with this literary souvenir 
deems it unnecessary to make any apology for its appearance so 
long as the hope can be I'easonably entertained that the labor 
and time to please and instruct will not be wholly unsuccessful — 
trusting that a liberal public will look upon it with a favorable 
eye, and that it will be cherished and admired. Literary merit 
is the standard by which every piece in it has been prepared, and 
the reader, it is believed, will not be disappointed in respect to the 
degree of interest which the titles with their composition will 
inspire. They are written with a purpose and a blessing, and 
their apropos personal will leave a vivid impression of their character, 
scenery and morals on the readers mind. It is commended to 
the attention of the old and young, as a substantial, unvarnished 
exertion of real life, aiid demonstrating by facts and illustrations 
how much can be accomplished, directed by wisdom and sanctitied 
by true religion, which is the great sentiment of the soul. Under 
these circumstances the writer feels that this offering can be 
presented to a discerning public with confidence, and with that 
cheerfvilness which is inspired by the consciousness of successful 
etiort — a work of sterling and permanent value as a contribution 
to American literature. The religious teachings of the book are 
excellent, impressive and penetrating. The tone of the book is pure 
and healthful; the style easy and graceful, and the incidents are such 
as to give pleasure witkout at all kindling the passton for exciting 
fiction among the young people of our day. No better gift could 
be made to one who has experienced some of life's sorrows — and 
who has not? 

It- is believed that this is a most conspicuous time for a publica- 
tion of this character, and is one on the right ground of penetrating 
interior and substance. It treats its subjects from the standpoint 
of facts, uncolored by popular misconception, or by religious ex- 
clusiveness for the educated, the cultured and the unlearned. The 
whole end is in this matter to commend Christianity in a courteous 
and conciliatory manner, rather than winged imagery. It is the 
true soul of poetry, becoming the true teacher iind preacher of his 
time. The little poems, too, are full of tenderness and gentleness 
in their rythmic beauty, their soft and gentle cadence; they are 
music, and none the less so for the lack of notation; they awaken 
interest, giving pleasure and delight. Poetry has come out into 



4 IN HIS NAME. 



the world and filled its high-ways and by-ways like tTie minnesingers 
of old, and the world is the brighter and better for tlie sweet songs 
of the singers, of their father's house, Heaven. It involves rest, 
recognition and tranqulity and abundance of everlasting celestial 
joys, and truest of happiness that is to come where there are 
crowns and palms and harps. Crowns mean activity; palms mean 
victory; harps mean song, song of the redeemed in Heaven. What 
more can we hope for or have? For such things we can afford to 
wait, and meanwhile work with all our might while the day lasts. 
We may lift up our heads for our heritage is secure and our 
salvation draweth nigh. 

This book is printed by request of many. I trust it may prove 
a mighty factor in the religious world. 

CAROLINE E. LAWRENCE INGER80LL. 



IN HIS NAME. 



IN HIS NAME. 



Since thy Father's arm sustains thee, 

Peaceful be ; 
When a chastening hand restrains thee, 

It is He; 
Know His love in full completeness, 
Feel the measure of thy , weakness. 
If He wound thy spirit sore, 

Trust Him more. 

Without murmur, uncomplaining, 

"In His name," 
Leave whatever things thou canst not 

Understand! 
Though the world thy folly spurneth, 
From thy faith in pity turneth. 
Peace, thy inmost soul shall fill, 

Lying still. 

Like an infant, if thou thinkest, 

Thou canst stand. 
Child-like, proudly pushing back 

The proffered hand. 
Courage soon is changed to fear; 
Strength doth feebleness appear; 
"In His Name," if thou abide, 

He will guide. 

Fearest sometimes that thy Father 

Hath forgot? 
Though the clouds in silvery mist around thee gather, 

Doubt Him not. 
Always hath the daylight broken, 
Always hath He comfort spoken. 
Better hath He been for years, 

Than thy fears. 



IN HIS NAME. 



Therefore, whatsoe'er betideth, 
Night or day. 
Know His love for thee provideth 

Good alway. 
Crown of sorrows gladly take, 
Grateful wear it for His sake, 
Sweetly bending to His will — 
Saying still. 

To His own the Saviour giveth 

Daily strength. 
To each troubled soul that boweth, 

Peace at length. 
Weakest lambs have largest share 
Of the tender Shepherd's care, 
Ask Him not then — When? or How? 
Only bow. 

Jesus! Jesus! In Thy matclilfss name, 
Thy grace shall fail us never; 
Thou art the same yesterday, today, 
'J'hou art the same forever. 



MY TRIBUTE TO JESUS. 

The fairest tlovver that ever bloomed, 

Opened on Calvary's tree; 
There Jesus" blood in rivers flowed, 

For love of worthless me. 

Its deepest shade, its brightest hue, 

No mortal can compare; 
Nor can the tongue of angels tell 

How bright its colors are. 

And soon on yonder banks above. 

Shall every blossom here, 
Ajjpear a full-blown flower of love, 

Like Jesus transplanted there. 

Jesus, the balm of life, the cure of woe, 
Our security and pledge of love; 



IN HIS NAME. 

Tlie siiiiun's refuge here on earth, 
The iuigels" theme in heaven. 

May we blest Jesus' image wear, 

When from tlie tomb our flesh shall rise, 
Anu on the Fairest of the fair, 
Forever fix our eyes. 

Jesus, Uh, perfect peace, 

The world could ne'er bestow; 
The Holy, Beautiful, Undefied— 

Relic of heaven— still lingering here below. 

The lily blooms beside Thee in the wild. 

Yet, cannot match her coronal of snow 
\vith thy unsullied vesture's spotless white. 

Washed in the dews of heaven, that usher in the Light. 

We love to sing around our King, 

And praise Him, blessed Jesus; 
For there is "no word ear ever heard" 

So dear, so sweet, as Jesus. 

And when our Jesus hung upon the tree. 

They wrote this name (Jesus) above Him, 
That all might know the reason we 

Forevermore must love Him. 

Our God has done far more for us. 

That can be e'er repaid; 
His only Son on Calvary, 

For us atonement made. 

This history seems to us a "glass," 

In which we can our Saviour see; 
As Moses reared that form of "brass," 

So Jesus was lifted on the tree. 

He saw — He pitied— and He bore 

Our sins upon the stained tree, 
He bade us look, that evermore 

From sin and death we might be free. 



IN HIS NAME. 



There shines in heaven a fairer light, 

Ihan this earth could e'er aliord; , 

Can the sun be counted bright, 

When compared with Jesus, our Lord? 

"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds. 

In a believer's ears; 
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 

And drives away his tears." 

Dear name, the Rock on which we build. 

Our shield and resting place; 
O may the music of Thy name. 

Refresh our souls in death. 

O fairer than the sons of men, 

O fairest of the host above; 
What tongue can tell,, what eye hath seen. 

The glories of our Jesus we love? 

Jesus is more lovely far. 

Than aught on earth can be; ' 
He is brighter than the "morning star," 

Jesus died for you — for me. 

What inestimable love we should show, ■ 

To His most blessed name; 
How great our wonder then will be. 

When Jesus' bright face in Heaven we see! 

A few more years suffering past, 

Our souls shall reach that heavenly shore; 
Our bodies at the trumpet's blast 

Shall rise to die no more. 

Thus while Jesus' death our sins display. 

In all its sombrous hue; 
Such is the mystery of grace. 

It seals our pardon too. 

"Were the whole realm of nature ours. 
That were a tribute far too small; 

Jesus, so loving, so divine. 

Demands our life — our soul — our all." 



IN HIS NAME. 



And know that all if right, 

It is enough i6Y me, by faith to stay, 
My hidden life on Thee, 

And in the secret of Thy covenant, to rest implicitly. 

1 know tliat tlioii art gone to beautify a phico in Heaven for me. 
And when Thou comcst to take Thy children home, I shall be 
like to Thee. 
Then shall I wake and see Thee, whom now, unseen, I love, 
Faith's daily visioned-glass, exchanged at hist, for rapturous 
sights above. 

O then with me give thanks to God, 

Who still does gracious prove; 
And let the tribute of our praise 

Be endless as His love. 
May the Amen from so many lips be the utterance of a prophesy. 



MOTHER. 
•'Her children rise up and call her blessed." 

Those who. obey the Master and live the '"child-life," die the 
••child-death." It matters not how massive may haae been the 
Christian's intellect, or great his achievements, he breathes out 
his spirit as he prattled his prayer at his mother's knee in child- 
hood, sustained by a child's faith. One of our senior Presidents of 
bygone days, John Adams, once said that among all his petitions 
and suplications presented to his Heavenly Father, he never at 
night failed to repeat the little prayer, "Now I lay me down to 
sleep," taught to him by his valued mother when he was a child. 

What ai great gift is bestowed upon us by God In giving us a 
praying mother, who not only teaches us to commit little pray- 
ers to "Our Father," but her's also are wafted on angel wings to 
Heaven lor our salvation and protection. 

Mother, the fovmtain of pious and gracious influence within her 
breast there is something hidden, unknown, mysterious, sum of 
all the moral and religious power demonstrated and though myriads 
of mother's prayers may not even be as -loud as a whisper, our good 
Heavenly Father hears them as plainly as a vocalization; that 
silence of suplication is hemispheric and perpetual; it ascends with 
velocity, and its majesty and multipotence speaks words into the 
ears of everlasting remembrance, and on the other side of all 



10 IN HIS NAME. 



eternities, they will be ll^ard when she solves life's wondoifiil 
lesson. A {jroat lantern of eloud luings over tais chasm, botweon 
the two walls. 

The door of that lantern is opened toward llio lieaven ahead, 
and the baek of the lantern toward the earth with "storm-trials," 
ehareed and suroharired witli tribulation, brightened, refreshed and 
lightened by patience, and the {•entle loveliness of a noble Christian 
life, wiiose Teacher is the meek and lowly One, beyond the heal^en- 
]y portals, where she A\ill, peerless in His love, evermore abide. 
Above earth's sliallow bliss, the dew-di"ops linger quivering like fairy- 
bells of light, not a cloud in its firmament. Not a surge is on its 
deep, for the glassy sea lay breathing in an unimpassioned sleep; 
no canker in the blossom of the paleless flowers; no Might upon the 
trees; no bar to joyousness — in that sunny dome aloft the "Para- 
dise of God" with prophets anidi promises such as these. 

It is spiritually blessed to linger at the shrine, — or the tomb 
of the true, — of the motlier who has iimininnuringly borne the bur- 
den in the "heat of the day;" wlio amid great tribulations and 
trials, has been "weighed in the balance" and "not found want- 
ing." With some exceptions, if we trace closely the early history 
of eminent and distinguished nu'u of piety, we shall ascertain that 
they possessed a "mother in Israel" for Iheir maternal parent. 

The power of a pious mother is excmjilitied by the fact that tlu' 
inajority of candidates for the ministrj^ have been borne to their 
sacred calling by a mother's jnayers a,nd directed by a mother's 
counsel to the Saviour. 

The faithful watchfulness and sincere earnest prayer of parents, 
particularly a miother's, may in instances seem for a time to be 
fruitless, but, in the education of children, ox])erience usually 
verifies the statement that the holy impressions made in childhood 
are seldom erased. 

These impressions by awakening in tli(>ir minds the idea and 
love of goodness and the strength of will to repel temptations, and 
by preparing them to ])roiit by the conflicts of life, sur]iass in in- 
fluence a Napoleon breaking the world to his sway. 

Although we will not claim that none are converted in old 
a.ge — those for instance, who have been neglectful, or not disci- 
plined in wisdom's ways of pleasantness and peace by ungodly 
parents to "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth," or 
that solemn and eternally momentous' question asked. "What 
must T do to be saved?" Still those in the evening of life are 
few and far between, like the scattered grapes on the outmost 



IN HIS NAMK. II 



branches after the vintage is gatlicrt-d. 'Jims it is with the 
conversion of the aged. 

Paternal prayer is desirable, indeed, and a mother's sacred, 
prayerful breathings yield Ihe budding love of amaranthine bloom 
and holiness, blooming unto her children piety in their youth, 
growing in grace as their years increase, and making them heirs of 
eternal life. 

If life during mortal existence bo prolonged to iiii advanced 
age, they will be useful in their several spheres and callings, 
respected, valued, honored and beloved, on account of their Christ- 
ian character, which they owe to their mother s Grxl for be- 
que£ithing so valuable a legacy. 

Mother! The name is conspicuous at the present .diy, and has 
been from the foundation of the world, and will continue and re- 
main so forever at the home fireside circle, in pastoral poetrj', in 
heaven. 

Mother! The name returns with the seasons — with the violets, 
the lilies, the roses, the birds, iuid when these go, the sweet 
na.me of mother goes with them but to return with the beautiful 
works of God's hand in nature. 

Mother! The name the vaulted blue sky of April recalls — 
the meadow brook, the early lilacs, the lark and the thrush. 

Mother! The name to which the pure lillies of the valley bow 
their heads in reverance and softly lisp to the grass beneath — 
which partly conceals their purity and lovliness — that the world 
is better for her being. 

Mother! The name contains a little world in itself, and in 
that world, one light — clear and transparent. It is placed in the 
window of the mother soul of her self-sacrificing heart, and it 
is lighted vvith trust in God and simple faith, secured in His 
promise and sealed in the Lamb's book of life. 

Mother! The name amid the darkest years of her life — if such 
(iod might have chosen for His follower and child in Christ, to 
refine her in the furnace of affliction — even then, the torch of 
life burns brilliantly with transparency and translucence, with an 
everlasting light that never dies out, but is only rendered more 
touching and inspirational, confirming before angels and men that 
God has not lighted it in vain. 

Mother! The name in its perfection breathes above; her grain 
then is all winnowed, and her gold refined, purified, completed. 
She has no sorrows there, nor doubts, nor tears, her full fruition 
bears in Heaven where the angels ever sing "Alleluia," she strikes 
her harp of gold. In that fair land of eternal loveliness, the happy 



1-2 IX HIS NAME. 

bask in glorious suuli^lit aiul z('[)liyrs fnuu tlu- throne of God are 
borne- on fragrant showers. 

■"There the rainbow never pales, and the ones that we so 
fondly lo\ed on eaitii, who have passed from lis like shadows, 
will stay in our presenee forever." 



CHERRY RIPE. 

"Uold me closer, mamma, eloser, 

Put your arms around me tight; 
For I'm cold and tired, mamma, 

And 1 feel so strange to-night. 
Sonifthing hurts me here, dear mamma. 

I.ike a stone upon my breast. 
And 1 wonder, wonder, mamma, 

^Vhy it is I eannot rest. 

"All the day while you weri' busy, 

As 1 lay upon my bed, 
I was trying to be patient. 

And to think of what you said. 
Then before the lamps were lighted. 

Just liefore the children came, 
^Vhen my room was very quiet 

I heard one call my name. 

'■'Come up here, my little Cherry Kipe. 

Come up her(> and live with me. 
Where no children ever suffer 

Through a long eternity.' 
Oh, I wondered, wondered, mamma. 

Who so bright upon me smiled. 
But I knew it must be Jesus, 

When he whispered, 'Come, my child." 

"Oh, at first, 1 felt so scirry to leave y(Ui. mamma. 

He had called and I must go. 
Go to sleep, no more to suffer, 

Mamma, don't be crying so; 
All at once the window opened. 

In the fields were lambs and shee]i. 
Some from out the brook were drinking. 

Others lying fast asleep. 



IN HIS NAME. 13 



"Tlioro were little ciiildien sinyiiis^. 

Sweeter soii^s I never lieind; 
Tliey were swccler, inanniiM. sweeter. 

Than the sweetest sinojiin hinl. 
Jiold me (closer, eioser, mniumn, 

I'lit your arms aroiiiid me ti^^ht; 
{)\i, how miu'h J love you maiiniiia, 

And ] feel so strange to-nigli(." 

Then her inol lier lielil her darling chiser. 

To her ever hiirning breast. 
On her heart thai near was breaking 

l>ay (he eurly head so near at rest. 
In the .solemn hour of midnight, 

In the silenee ealm and deep. 
Lying on hor mother's bosom, 

Little "Ciiorry Ripe" fell asleep. 

In the ((uiet little ehiirehyard. 

There is now a new made mound. 
And the little form that was so eherished. 

Has been tenderly laid beneath the grouii 
But up yonder in the portals, 

That are shining very fair, 
Little "Cherry Ripe" now is sheltered 

Ky our Saviour's loving care. 



OUR SWE3ET LITTLE TILLIE. 
(A Child of Heaven.) 

"Cod needed one more jewed for His crown and lie look our 
sweet little Tillie tenderly awny." 

"At times it seems^ thou art just away, and the hmd must be 
so very fair is why you linger there, 'j'hou wast lovely, sweet and 
gentle as a summer breeze, and jjleasant as the air of heaven as it 
floats among the trees. Yet again we hope to meet thee, when 
the -day of life is fled, then in Heaven with joy to greet thee 
where no heart -breaking tear is shed." 

Another link is broken. 

In our household band; 
But a chain is forming 

In a better land. 



14 IN HIS NAME. 



'Tis hard to break the tender cord, 

When love has bound the heart; 
"Tis hard, so hard to speak the word. 

We must on earth now part. 

We mourn our sweet little Tillic from our home, 

We mourn thee from thy place; 
A shadow o'er our life is cast, 

We mourn thy sunshine face. 

We mourn thy kind and loving hands 

Thy fond and earnest care; 
Our once happy home is dark and drear witliout thee, 

We mourn thee everywhere. 



MOTHER'S LOVE. 

After the raging storm of earth's separation, -coiihs the calm 
sunshine of heaven's reunion and the chorus of birds burst forth. 
Here and there a gold cloud in the sky, ai golden memory of faith 
and love to cheer us to the end. There is no fear of death for 
souls that soar in faith above this world's incarcerating bars, and so, 
by inner sight, behold that "Land of Light,'' whose glory diuis 
the splendor of the stars. 

Anchored! At rest with Jesus. 

One less at home, the charmed circle broken, a sacred mother's face 
Missed day by day from its usual place, but cleansed, saved and 
i'ertecteu by grace, one more in Heaven. 

One less on earth; its pains, its sorrows, its toils, to share, 
One less the pilgrim's daily cross to bear, one more the 
"Crown of the blessed" lo wfar, at home in Heaven, 
Anchored! At rest with Jesus. 



My children, would thou have me linger, 

Ever by thy cherished side; 
To cheer thee on life's journey. 

To love, to succor, ne'er to chide? 

Life is but a changeful season, 
Interspersed with hope and fears; 



IN HIS NAMK. If) 

l^^rst \vc liear sweet songs of gladness, 
Tlien the tones of igrief and tears. 

But beyond the licavcidy portal, 

Peerless in our Saviour's love. 
Dwell the hapjjv of God's chosen. 

Never, never more to rove. 

No more parfiiigs, se])ara(ions or broken hearts (here to grieve thee, 
No more chastening, no more scourging of the rod; 

My children, wilt thou strive to meet me 
In the Paradise of God? 



SILVER LININGS. 

The tilings we love may die, 

May perish from the gay and gladsome earth ; 
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, 

Shine on its grave, as once upon its birth. 

The things we love may change, 

The rosy lips may cease to smile anew ; 
The kindly gonial eye in its beam grow cold and strange. 

'J'lie heart still waiiuly beat, yet not. he true. 

The things we love may pale, 

Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers. 
Things are made to fade and fade away 

VjVo thev have blossomed for a few short hours. 



AS GOD HATH PROSPERED. 

A beiu'ficent person is like a fountain watering the earth and 
spreading fertility, while others are so covetous as if they were to 
live forever, and benevolence could not receive for obedience from 
them but a cold glitter and rigid expression regarding its com- 
pliances. Generous intentions should be developed methodically in 
practical use. Merely talking of doing, and never accomplished, is 
of no substantial or ])crmanent foundation; but rather a composition 
of surface with no depth of substance. How much preferable to be 
chosen is the bouyancy and suavity of disposition of true devotion 
and self-sacrifice. We should heed the jeweled lesson taught us 



10 IN HIS NAME. 



by our great Teacher, God, who has given to all what He con- 
siders just, of this world's wealth — to some ton talents, to others 
one; even if we have little given, give a small portion of that. 
The cruse of oil shall never fail; give to the Lord, make some re- 
turns unto Him. The gold and silver are His. He givetii unto us 
and we should in grateful thankfulness return tithes unto Him of 
that which He hath given to us in kindness, we who are so un- 
worthy LO be the recipients thereof. He looks down from heaven 
and says to the rich, Ail this 1 hath given thee, what hast thou 
given Me? "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least 
of these my bretlu-en, ye have done it unto ^le." Where are the 
proofs of our stewardship? ^^'hy cannot the rich feel for others 
heart-pains that are real? ^V'hy may they not like sweet minister- 
ing spirits of charity and mercy relieve them? "Bis dat qui cito, 
dat.'" Be ye warmed and clothed, uttered in careless passing words, 
with unconcerned indifferance, satisfietli not tlie body require- 
ments or the necessities for raiment. "Ami oiu- of you say unto 
them, depart in peace, be ye warmed and tilled, notwithstanding, 
ye give them not those things wliicli are needed to the body, what 
doth it profit?"' James 2:15. rrnyev is very needful, it is tlu' kry 
that unlocks the word of God, but it answers in part for the 
famishing, it has to be accompanied with food, or the means to 
purchase bread for the hungry, who require both spiritual and 
earthly provision for sustenance to retain their soul a,nd hold life's 
small mortal compass of existence together. The Christian poor 
are God's dear children, and they heroically sustain their part in 
the conflict of mortality, — wliich is a furnace of fire in wliicii He 
tests their faith, trust and atl'ection for Him, bringing them forth 
refined, purified, exalted. Both consoled a^nd rewarded they enter 
into mansions of inconceivable untold giory. Ihc precious secure 
resting place given only to the real child of its Father. Tribula- 
tions have made them beautiful for Heaven and theirs is jny and 
light of the Infinite. At last, by their perseverance, through the 
struggle clouds they won the goal. 

The rich should always tender symp.itliics regard for the less 
favored than tliemselves. and if lliey would give the tentli of their 
increase unto God, how it would benefit the poor, and many a frail 
tenement of .toil would be found, their head resting on a softer 
pillow, and their feebleness strengthened. Why cannot the rich 
possess warmer hearts? Who can resist Thy gentle call, appealing 
to every generous heart and grateful feeling? Wl\o can hear the 
aiccents of acquisition, and never love Thee? God loveth a cheerful 
giver. How bountiful the blessed Master gave unto mankind, over- 



IN HIS NAME. 17 



iiowiiig mciisure. "Don't look for a bright piiniy lor ciiinL-h collfc- 
tion; give as (.Joel lu^th prospered of your gold or sliver. (Juglil 
not His stewards follow the example He set for thcui to practice 
until they render their linal account of stewardship cntrusied with 
Thee in the endV The poor of this world may yet be heirs and 
joint-heirs of a Heavenly King in the world to come. The sweetest 
music is not in the oratoria, but in tlu^ iiuniau voice, when il 
speaks in tones of tenderness, truth and encouragement. When 
M'e reach Heaven we will never regret having done too much, if 
we entertain any past grievance it will most assuredly be that 
we had done so little. Monuments ol ukui's beneficence are evi- 
dences of his tokens of generosity, and gifts of his wealth of- 
ferings of love. Gifts are relieving the poor, donating towards 
churches, etc., — firstly to his Master, and secondly to his fellow- 
men. "God! loveth the gates of Zion better than the dwellings of 
Jacob." '"Honor the Lord with thy substance, and with the first 
fruits of all thine increase." Proverbs 15:9. "So shall thy l);irns 
be filled with plenty, and thy: presses shall burst out with new 
wine." Proverbs 3:10. How preferable to be cnguged in well-doing, 
rather than self-accumulation. Could we be on the Lord's' side and 
be known and recognized in the latter? Kinder hearts may never 
beat than those within the bosom of some of God's poor, under 
their coarse outer guise; right impulses and true principles flourish 
just as well, and sometimes better, than beneath the polished ex- 
terior of more cultured and enlightened and classic mortals. The 
true man is that which exists under what is called real man- 
hood. "Well done" is certainly a. most happy actionable of a 
man's life. Kind words bring so much sunshine with them and tart 
ones leave such a dreary, dreary lilaiik. Flow diversified are the 
disjjositions of mankind, under the firmament — the one dome of 
the world — the majestic crown of the most storied city of men, but 
is not the sympathetic soft voice in spoken accentuations of gen- 
tleness, and the Christ-like disposition and angel foot-steps tread 
on its errands of loving deeds for the needy, to be observed with 
gladness as a city set on a hill, whose light cannot be hid, but shineth 
more and more unto the perfect day of God's revelation, who saith: 
"I know thy works and charity and service and faith, and thy 
patience and thy works, and the last to be more than the first." 
Revelations 2:19. Breathe a holy thanksgiving to Him whose self- 
sacrifice has perfected our own complete happiness and the eternal 
refuge of our soul's redemption and confirmed salvation. 

A reminiscence is related of passing a plate in church, comprising 
a very large congregationi, and the clergyman observing that 



18 IN HIS NAME. 

there was only one alms dish, made signs to a rustic usher from tlie 
chancel entrance to come to him, and bade him to go into the 
rectory garden, through a glass door into the dining room, where 
their had been a slight rellectiou before the service, bring a disii 
from the table, take it down one side of the north aisle, and up the 
other and bring it to the rector at the place from which he 
started. The usher disappeared, reappeared with the dish, took it 
as he was ordered and presented it to the people on either side of 
the aisle and then apjjroaching the rector, whispeied, "l ha\e 
done as yer told me, sir. I've taken it down ytjn side of the 
aisle and up t'other, they'll none of "em 'ave any." No order had 
been given to empty the dish and it was full of biscuit which cause 
ascertained why the rustic usher had received in the dish no con- 
tributions. 

"Will a man rob Cod? Yet ye have robbed Me. But ye say, 
wherein have we robbed Thee In tithes and offerings." Surely 
men should treat their Maker, the only good and great God, as 
well as they treat each other, and exceedingly greater and far 
more reverently before and toward the Almighty Jehovah, whom 
no man can look upon and live, and it is a fearful thing to fall into 
the hands of the living God, who is a consuming fire. No man can 
cavalirly excuse himself. The feeling that the range of our obliga- 
tions rise no higher and take in no more than our duties to 
our fellows; but notwithstanding there remains the whole grand 
and solemn realm of our duties God-ward and faithfulness to the 
lower, can not excuse unfaithfulness and lethean interest to the 
Higher. It is a searching question for us — men ought to halt and 
ask, is this right in the sight of God? Have we obeyed God first 
in all things?' God is not mocked, "whatsoever a man soweth, that 
shall he also reap." We are required to give a tenth, "as God hath 
prospered,"' if a little, give a tenth of that little; if abundantly, a 
tenth accordingly. God is not unrighteous that He will forget your 
cheerful giving, requisition, rectitude, and you will receive your 
reward. God does not give just to the top of the vessel. He giveth 
pressed down and running over. Your tenth, however small, will be 
accepted by God as well as the tenth of the magnate's millions. Every 
man shall give as he is able. It is not the amount that God looks 
at, it is the act and the self-sacrifice, to His honor and glory. 
Remember the widow's mite. Some suggest and acknowledge that 
they want all for themselves, but who gave them that all in trust 
for themselves? Was it not God, and their life, health and daily 
existence? Self must fall to possess Christ all in all. 

We have not rendered unto God the things that are God's, who 



IN HIS NAME. 19 



gave His only Son foi* ovir sakes, to be bound upon the accursed tree. 
By the drooping death-dewed brow, Son of Man, "Tis Thou, Tis 
Thou. J3y the hist antt bitter cry, sad and dying, who is He, Son of 
Man, 'Tis Thou, "Tis Thou. By the lifeless body, the bones of the 
crucified Jesus in the chamber of the dead, Son of Man, 'Tis Th-ou, 
'Tis Tliou. By the souls he died to save, and the saints before 
His Throne, and the rainbow round His brow, Son of God, "Tis Thou, 
'Tis Thou. Go to dark Gethsamane, ye that feel the coveting 
tempter's power, follow to the judg-ment hall, view the Lord of 
Life arraigned. "It is finished," hear our dying Saviour cry. "Jesus 
Christ gave Himself for us to die." 

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, truest, dearest 
i'riend, for this, thy dying sorrow, thy pity without end? Lord 
may I never never outlive my love and gifts wholly for Thee, dying 
safely through Thy love, believing in Him who maketh me wholly 
Thine forever — heirs to an unending life, and He gave his life to ob- 
tain and purchase our salvation. "All this I have done for thee, 
what hast thou done for Me?" Most certainly those who refuse God 
a tenth of what He gives them, would decidedly not have done so for 
Him. Then if we serve Him not on earth as He commandeth us 
to do, can we expect to reign and live with Him in heaven? 

We must not keep back any part of our tenth. We have an 
instance of Annanias and Sapphira, Acts 5:2, 5, 10. Some may say, 
'"We who teach should teach ourselves, and we who set at guiding 
others should be especially anxious that some of the mud of un- 
faithfulness and inconsistency do not spatter and smutch our gar- 
ments." By each man's "faith and works ye slial! know them. 
God knoweth the heart, the purpose." and "he that layeth up treas- 
ures for himself and is not rich toward God." "Christ warnctli 
to beware of eovetousness." A man's life consists not in (he 
abundance of the things which he possesseth. 

Ah, not like erring man is God, 

That men to answer Him should dare; 

Condemn'd and into silence awed, 
They helpless stand before his bar. 

Woulds't thou one day be spoken of to tlie King? Would H^ 
know you then? 

"So is he that layeth up treasures for himself and is not rich to- 
ward God." Luke 12:16-21. 

Art thou the cheerful giver God loveth, 2 Cor. 9:7. Never give 
grudge-way-like and unwilling, to be acceptable to God. "Bis dnt 
qui, cito dat." "Them that honor Me. I will honor — and thev that 



20 IX HIS NAME. 



despise Me, I will lightly esteem." "If then I be a Fatlier where is 
Mine honor? And if 1 ho, a Master, where is My tear? saith the 
Lord of hosts unto you." "For, from the rising of the sun even 
unto the going down of the same, My name shall be gi-eat among 
the Gentiles; and in every place incense shall be offered unto j\Iy 
name, and a pure offering; for My name shall be great among the 
heathen, saith the Lord of hosts." 

A misspent, covetous, unprofitable life has all the springs of past 
given chances buried with it, like the consolation of one who 
dares not look back and who has nothing to expect. 

There are various varieties of givers — the penny giver, the shilling 
giver and the dollar giver, and the fat giver and the lean giver and 
the non-giver. Reader, whieh class do you come under? It 
Christians gave "as God hath prospered'' them, hoAV affluently full 
would be God"s treasuries. Nothing for Jesus; how unjust for the 
great salvation He hath procured and purchased for us. Is there not 
a great deal of robbing God, and even by those of most scrupiilous 
honesty as towards their fellow men? "P.ring ye the whole tithe 
into the storehouse, and prove Me now herewith, saith the Lord 
of hosts, if I will not open you the \\indows of heaven and pour 
yoii out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive 
it." Keep your lieart whole towards God. Have we treated God as 
well as we have our fellow men? To say notliing of (he better 
and more reverent treatment God's character demands. 

The bubbles that float on the whirlpool of fashionable and 
ungodly existence, will they ever stop to inquire into or bemoan 
its vanishment ? 

It is the true pbiloso])liy to not let the wlu^cls of time roll by 
without bearing choice fruit and titlies for tiie Master and His 
cause. "If thou be righteous what givest thou Him m- wluit receiv- 
eth He of thine hand?" Job 35:7-8. "The tenth shall be holy unto 
to Lord." Leviticus 27:32. "And of all that Thou shalt give me, i 
will surely give the tenth unto Thee." Genesis 28:22. "For all 
things come of Thee, and of Thine own have we given Tliee." 1 
Chronicles 29:14. 

People generally do not recogni/.e tiiat "(iod hath prospered" them, 
and so they do not think to render to Him accordingly as they 
have received. God giveth the power to get riches, and He re- 
quireth the tenth of those riches. He can raise the poor and sink 
the monarch as he pleases. The indictment of the Lord against His 
ancient people might be laid against m;Miy of His cluirches in 
those days. ">-'he did not know that \ gave her corn and wine 
and oil and nuiltiplied her silver and gold." The world needs that 



IN HIS NAME. 21 



tlie believers halt and ask the question, "Is this vij^ht in tlie sii^ht 
of God? 

4 

Alas, few now recognize llia( it is licL-ansc "Ond Tmth piospcied ' 
them tiiat things are so well with them and ncglccf iiig lo acknow- 
ledge the Source of their blessings — their kind and great Benefactor — 
they do not consecrate their wealth to "Our Father who art in 
Heaven."' "liender unto Caesar the things tliat are Caesar's, and 
unto Cod the things that are Cod's." (tow good, He is tlu' Civer. 
lliere is none good l)\it One, (hat is God." St. Matthew, lit: 17. 

The very law of oir<iiiigs to the Lord settles as a primary fact 
(he matter (o be an aceompjislicil. sidlled tiling; (liat e\ciything 
that is given to Him beconu's l)y tiic very act something holy, set 
apart from all ollur things, and ciiniint, without sacrilege be put 
to a'ny other uses. Notwithstanding, no devoted tiling that a man 
shall devote unto the Lord of all that he hath, both of man and 
beast, and of the field of his possession, shall be sold or redeemed. 
Kveiy devoted thing is most holy unto the Lord. Having once given 
it to th(> Lord, the; de\()te<l tiuiig iicnccfoit h was rcckoiicil by 
all Israel as being the Lord's and no one dared to strelch foith a 
hand to retake it. The giver might have made liis oirering very 
grudingly and half-heartedly, but having made it, (lie matter was 
taken out of his hands altogether, and the devoted thing by God's 
own law became most holy unto the Lord. It was riot the intention 
of the giver that made it holy, but the holiness of the receiver. 
"The altai- sanclilics (he gift." And an oirciing once laid n|inn tlie 
altar fi-oin (hat moment hcliiiigcd (o (he Lord. As (o Ikjw you 
gave your oU'ering, oi- what were your motives in giving it, I do 
not know. The facts are that you did give it, and that it is the 
Lord's, for every devoted thing is most holy unto Him. I( is too 
late to recall the (ninsactiim miw. And would we not be agiiast 
at the man, who. having (Jiice given his oUcring, should have 
reached out his haml to take i( back? IJecausc Cod is not visibly 
present to thee, it is difficult to feel that a transaction with Him is 
real, when we made our acts of consecration and realize we have 
gi\cn our word (o Him and could not dare to take it back, no 
nuitter how mucli we might wish to do so. Such a transaction would 
have to us the binding jiower that a spoken promise to an earthly 
friend always has to a man of honor. Thus it is when we surrender 
ourselves to the Lord, according to His own command, by the One 
who has commanded tlie gift. He does then and there receive us 
and from (hat moment we are His. A real transaction has taken 
place, whicli cannoi be violated wKhout dishonor on our part, and 



IN HIS NAME. 



whicli we know will not be violated by Him. This has always 
been His principle of working and it continues to be so. 

It would be a sad circumstance if the possessions of the wealth 
. of this world should so entangle us, to possess our entire hearts, 
proving by our misusages of it the loss of our souls. The "followers 
of Christ," and sweet charity are the Kingdom of Heaven, adorned 
in robes of His sanctification ; they heeded His word and worked 
while the day lasted, before the night cometh, and our earth mission 
is fulfilled and we shall go to live forever where the pure, happy 
angels dwell, and be saved. There is all peace and joy and love. 
They climbed the steep ascent to Heaven through peril, toil and 
pain. May our dear Father, by our faith and works, give us 
grace to follow in their train, and at last rise triumphant in our 
glorious ascension above the clouds of night to the Lamb of Calvary, 
ransomed souls. 

"No arm so Aveak but may do service here, 
By feeblest agents can our God fulfill 
His righteous will. 

"We give Thee but Thine own, a trust our Lord, from Thee. 
And a glad sound comes with tlie setting sun, 
'Servants, well done.' "' 

In 2 Chronicles, 21 chapter, .3, (i, 7, 8-10, 11 12. 1.% King 
Hezekiah appointed Azariah the ruler of the house of God, and a 
number of overseers, for the great store of tithes and offerings 
brought in abundantly unto their God, and laid them by heaps. 
His people Israel, confirming the people's forwardness in bringing jIn 
first_ fruits and tithes. King Hezekiah's sincerity of heart appoirit- 
eth officers to dispose of those offerings. The foi-mer days testify to 
"as please God."' Why can not this twentieth century become 
equivolent to the same well doing, to their ]Maker — ""As God 
iiath Prospered." 



THE RAREST OF PRECIOUS STONES. 

One of the rarest and most previous stones is the carbuncle. It 
has been called the most precious of all rare stones ever discovered 
or unearthed by the geologist. It is sometimes confounded with the 
ruby, from which it differs by the intensity of its ilres, produced 
by an internal lustre of gold, while under the purple of the ruby 
there only appears dottings of azure or lacquer. Ethiopia produced 
tne most precious ancient carbuncles. The Chaldeans regarded this 



IN HIS NAME. 



stone of great value as a powerful talisman. Legend makes the 
eyes of the dragons ojat of carbuncles. ~ 

Garcias ab Horto, physician of one of tlie viceroys of India, speaks 
of carbuncles which he saw in the palace of that prince, whicii 
were so extraordinary in their brilliancy tliat tliey seemed like 
red hot coals in the midst of darkness. 

Louis Vertoman reports that the liing of Pegu wore an enormous 
one which at night appeared to be lighted up with sunbeams. 

It is considered a fortunate stone and good luck. The virtues 
of the carbuncle are resistance to fire, preservation of the eyes, 
promotion of pleasant dreams, creation of happy illusion, and an 
antidote against impure air. 



OUR LITTLE TILLIE'S KNITTING LESSON. 

A Dutiful Daughter. 

One day, one summer, mamma called her four little daughters to 
her and said, "I am going to teach you to knit. I will give you a 
reward for the first pair of socks you knit for papa, and how delight- 
ful it will be for him to wear them." Then she gave Glady, Gail, 
Emmie .and little Tillie each a great ball of pretty blue colored yarn 
because it was a true color, and a set of sliining knittiiii; ncedP s, and 
she patiently spent a great deal of. time in showing them iuiw t.) set 
up a sock on three needles, and how to hold it and iiow to use the 
fourth needle to really knit. Then Catharine, the housekeeper, and 
nurse to the little ones,, was to show them how to shape the heel 
and toe, and narrow and bind off, as mamma herself was to be away 
for several weeks at grandma's. It was something not to be done 
in a day. Their little fingers had to learn to '"labor and to wait.'" 
So every day each little girl took her ball and needles and went 
away to her own favorite nook in the fairy-like flower garden, with 
its very lovely roses and various shrubs, trees and beautiful flowers, 
blooming in their beauty and scattering their sweet fragrance, whi-le 
the happy little birds sing sweetly in the trees above the floral sur- 
roundings, and every thing seemed like fairy-land as the four little 
fairies began in child-like earnestness as becomes natural with 
children, and for some time a very lively race went on for the prize. 
For at least nearly a fortnight the little girls knitted indus- 
triously; then Glady began to weary even before one sock was 
completed, and Gail's and Emmie's socks grew very slowly, though 
the knitting always seemed to show even and smooth. But how 
little Tillie. did try to do her verv, very best, and a model of a 



24 IN HIS NAME. 



daugliter she proved of the child-band of household rosebuds. !She 
was called by her papa his dutiful little Tillie, while he called 
their mamma his big Tillie. 

How little Tillies tiny lingers fairly Hew as she sat upon 
(jne of the piano stools she had brought into the sitting room, 
whiiC her little white, fleecy pet lamb, "Jittle Beauty," nibbled 
at the ball of yarn and wondered why Tillie did not have a word to 
say to it as it lay on the open door-sill, leading out on the veranda. 
Another day she took her little stool out into the grape arbor and 
diligently knit away, through the merry voices, and diligentiy indeed, 
while her other sisters had gone down to the brook-side at the 
end of their garden, and she could distinguish distinctly each sis- 
terly voice. "I viill finish first," says one. "I will." '"1 will win 
the prize, I know I can." 

After a very long time to Tillie, and a surprisingly short tiuie 
to her sisters, Tillie announced, and it was on the day of mamma's 
return home, that her socks were finished, and first of all, for 
Glady had not quite all done, and Emmie's and GaiTs needed yet 
some finishing. Little Tillie laid her pair of socks on mamma's 
lajj for inspection with a triumphant sunbeam of a smile. Th(^ socks 
were verj^ pretty and even and rounded or binded off and knitted. 
Then the four little girls hovered near, while mamma, slipped one of 
the socks over her hand. And wliat do you think? There were 
about a dozen little stitches, where Tillie in her limited time to 
get them done for papa, had dropped. "Oh, well,"' said mamma, 
"you did your very best, my little daughter, for mammi and \r,\.\y.\, 
too, as you always do, my darling child. Of your precious one it 
is said, 'she hath done what she could,' and our little Tillie is nicer 
than any one. Mamma will put a dozen or mor(> darning stitches 
in them before papa can wear them. Glady laughed quite merrily, 
but Emmie and Gail put their child-arms around their sweet little 
sister, whose tear drops, with theirs mingled, were falling softly on 
her snow-white embroideried child-apron. "Never mind, sweetness," 
said mamma, "you will get the prize yet, after all for you did knit 
the first pair of socks." Mamma then said she would give all a prize 
for learning to knit, a little work box each, with needles, tiny scissors, 
thread, and a child's gold thimble with their names engraved in ini- 
tials. "Our little Tillie has done her part, too," so says papa, as 
mamma stooped to kiss the tear stained and ever so sorry (beautiful 
as a picture) little face, then she gave Tillie her work box, a pretty 
blue and gold one, with tiny gold thimble, needles, scissors and thread, 
with a lock and key, and she said in a whisper, "You won the first 
jjrize for papa'-s socks darling, and your little fingers faithfully did 



1 



IN HIS NAME. 



the very best they knew how or could do." Aiyi the lesson little 
Tillie learned along with her knitting she will never forget. She 
was always child-like and so sweet and loved, possessing nothing of 
the nianeuvoring or sellish nature disposi'd, but exquisitely loveable,in 
uisjjosition and eharacteristical of loveliness. Without imagination 
or exaggeration, of her it can he truly said, "The heirs of heaven 
are such as these, for such as these 1 came."' 

When a child "has done what she could" in trying to please you, 
even if tiiere are knots suspended, dropped stitches and tanglfed 
threads, have patience — its tiny fingers could do no better, and do 
not disconrage it by jerking away the article or piece of material, 
or laughing at its infantile ways. It is only a beginning and those 
are its first endeavoring efforts, remember. You have learned, it 
has yet to learn; therefore praise rather than fauit-fina —showing 
j'Ou to be of an irritabU; disposition and causing the little one to 
become abashed and non-progressive. Don't do it. As teachers we 
ourselves must not be at the out-set unsatisfied if all is not just as 
you want it to result. Mothers, of all, especially sluuild learn pa- 
tience for industry's little lingers. In our granilmother's day, 
little girls were taught ever sd many useful indoor domestic duties, 
in a clever, natural way, and ecnnomy as well as religious and moral 
habits, instructed and impressed. It is probable that all the doll 
clothes of those days must have 'been well-made, because the "lit- 
tle mothers" were given every day a lesson in sewing, crocheting 
niul knitting as soon as tiiey were old enough to learn. 

The day lays open that my hand 

May write eternal records hour by hour; 

From the rich uiouunts of the present winning. 
The golden trove that is the future's dower. 

On this white virgin page all ideal beauty, 

Must be inscribed to make my day more fair; 

And like some precious gem bright illumined, 

^\■ith many a child-like deed and holy little prayer. 

Sacred tear-drops shed for another little sister's sorrow, 
A smile of sweet patience, a song of cheer; 

With here and there the golden-hearted blossomi 

Of a pure joy by sharing with each other made more dear. 

Thus would I write my life's little day, O tender Father, 
If it be so that Thou my hand will guide; 

Help me to make of Thy good gift a blessing 
From "silver morn to purple eventide." 



26 IN HIS NAME. 



THAT WAY. 

"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved. 
Believe, only believe. 

A Book of Remembrance. 

"What," said the unbeliever," do you mean to tell me that I can 
choose to believe in 'that way,' when nothing seems true to me, and 
will that kind of believing be true and real?" "Yes," is the be- 
liever's answer, "your jmrt is only this — to put your will over on 
God's side in this matter of believing and when you do this in 'that 
way,' God immediately takes possession of it, and works in you to 
will of His good pleasure and you will soon find in 'that way' He 
has brought all the rest of your nature into subjection to Himself." 
"Well," was the unbeliever's answer, "I can do this. I cannot con- 
trol my emotions, but I can control my will, and the new life begins 
to look possible to me, if it is only my will that needs to be set 
straight in the matter. I can give my will to God and I do." 
From that moment, disregarding all the pitiful clamoring of his 
emotions, which continually accused him of being a hypocrite, 
this unbeliever held on steadily to the decision of his will, now an- 
swering every accusation with the continued assertion that "he 
chose to believe, he meant to believe, he did believe," and at the end 
of several days he found himself triumphant, with every emotion 
that previously had vexed him and every idea of unbelieving now 
brought into captivity to the mighty power of the blessed Spirit of 
God, who had taken possession of the will in "that way," thus put 
into His hands. 

The unbelieving, now believer, held fast to the profession of his 
faith without wavering, although it had seemed to him "that way,' 
as to real faith itself, he had iione to hold fast. At times it had 
drained all the will power he possessed to his lips, to say he be- 
lieved and acknowledged its truthfulness, and its existence from 
the beginning, so contrary it had been to all the evidences of his 
senses or his sages and his emotion. But now he had caught t'he 
true idea, that his will was, after all, himself, and that if he kept 
'•that way" 'on God's side, he was doing all he could do, and that 
was all required of him and that God alone could change "as please 
God" his emotions or control his being. The result proving one, the 
principle one of the grandest of Christians, who is a whole Christian's 
life in its marvelous simplicity, directness and power over sin; his 
former idea had terminated in a myth; he had been building down- 



IX HIS NAME. 27 



ward on a foundation of sand, now he had been lifted up on the 
foundation rock, the Rock of Christ. 

Our will, which is the spring of all our actions, is in our natural 
state under the control of self, and self in us has been working in 
us not in "that way" but in "the other way," to our utter ruin 
and destructional havoc. Now God says, "Yield yourselves up to 
Me, as those that are alive from the dead, and I will work in you 
to will and to do of My good pleasure." And the moment we 
yield ourselves. He, of course, takes possession of us, and does work 
in us that which is well pleasing in His name and in His sight, 
through Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord and Saviour for time and 
eternity, giving us that mind that was in Christ Jesus, and trans- 
forming us into his image. "Let this mind be in you, which was 
also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of Cod, thought it not 
robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, 
and took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the like- 
ness of men, and being formed in fashion as a man, he humbled Him- 
self and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. 
Wherefore God also hath highly e;falted Him and given Him a 
name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every 
knee should bow, of things in heaven and things in earth and things 
under the earth. And tiiat every tongue should confess that Jesus 
Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." Philippians 2: 
2, 5. IL 

"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved. Be- 
lieve, only believe. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, the Life. No man 
Cometh unto the Father but through Him. Jesus saith, I am the 
resurrection and the life. He that believeth in Me though he were 
dead, yet shall he live. Whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall 
never die. Believeth thou this? Yea, Lord, I believe that Thou art 
the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. 
That whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have ever- 
lasting life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only 
begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but 
have everlasting life. For God sent not His Son into the world to 
condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be 
saved. He that believeth on Him is not condemned, but he that 
believeth not is condemned already because he has not believed 
in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the con- 
demnation, that Light is come into the world, and men loved 
darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil, for every 
one that doeth evil, hateth the light, lest his deeds should be re- 
proved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light that his 



28 IN HIS NAME. 



deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God. He 
that hath receiyed His testimony hath set to his seal that God is true. 
For He whom God hath sent speaketh the Word of God, for God 
giveth not the spirit by measure unto Him. The Father loveth the 
bon and hath given all things into His hands. "He that believeth on 
the Son hath everlasting life, and he that believeth not on the 
Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him. For 
where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am J 
in the midst of them'. Even thus shall it be in the day when the 
Son of Man is revealed. Take heed therefore that the light which 
is in thee be not darkness. If the whole body therefore be full of 
light having no part dark, the whole shall be full of light, as 
when the bright shining of a candle, doth give thee light. Fear ii<it. 
little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the 
kingdom. And seek not what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; 
neither be ye of doubtful mind, but rather seek ye the kingdom 
of God, and all these things shall be added unto you. Let your 
loins be girded about and your lights burning, and ye yourselves like 
unto men that wait for their Lord, when He will return from the 
wedding, that when He cometh and knocketh they may open unto 
Him immediately. Behold I will send My messenger and: He 
shall prepare the way before ile. And the Lord whom ye seek 
shall suddenly come to His Temple, even the messenger of the 
covenant, whom ye delight in. Behold! He shall come, saith the 
Lord of hosts. But Avho may abide the day of His coming? And 
W'ho shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner's fire 
and like fuller's soap, and He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of 
silver and He shall purify the sons of Levi and purge them as 
silver and gold that they may oflfer unto the Lord an offering in 
righteousness. Then shall they that feared the Lord, speak often 
one to another, and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and a book ot 
remembrance before Him of them that feared the Lord, and that 
thought upon His name. Then shall ye return and discern between 
the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and 
him that serveth Him not. 

If Satan be the father of our will, our will is the mother and sin 
is the sting of issue of both. He could not make our sin without 
ourselves. It was the charge of the Apostle that we sho\ild not give 
place to Satan. 

Do your part in life, as walking with God. Find your niche, and 
fill it. If it be ever so little and insignificant in man's sight, if it 
is to be only a hewer of wood, or drawer of water, do something in 
this great battle of life for God and truth, and let lionesty be 



n 



IN HIS NAME. 2U 



your best policy, with sterling habits of honor and combined with 
uprightness. Let honesty be as the breath of thy soul, walking in 
"the way." His footsteps trod on earth as a monumcnt-cxampie lor 
us to follow during life. Then shalt thou reach the point of hap- 
piness and independence, and clear-consciousness shall be thy 
shield and buckler, thy hehuet and crown; tiien shalt thy 
soul walk ujiright; nor stoop to the unbeliever, because he hath 
earthly riches, nor pocket a dishonesty from a receiver because the 
hand which offers it wears a ring set with diamonds. Uettcr is a 
little obtained honestly than great wrong-gotten gains. Peiice is far 
better, the efforts of nature, as that of the human heart ever is to 
return to its repose in God for peace, for there is no peace, saith 
God, for the wicked. When science fails to agree with the Bible, 
there need be no doubtings, no conflicts or wonder ings as to the 
result. Again and again the seeming differences which have arisen 
have vanished, and transient in the light at last of a fuller know- 
ledge of the doctrine of psychology. So it will be as we continue 
to learn life's lesson in '"that way." We shall stand more in awe 
and admiration of that infinite wisdom which is above all knowledge 
as the heaven is high above the earth. If we live in the dark 
cellar of our nature, we will grow more and more feeble, until 
spiritual death succeeds spiritual life, and its long absence and power. 
Our life needs light, both sunshine and of the Holy Spirit. It 
we live in the shadows of doubts in the gloomy vales of misanthropy 
in the dark closets of selfishness and vexations we will lose all the 
light and joy and finallj^ the very life of the true believer, in 
'"that way," that is found at God's right h nd. 'Iherofore conu- out 
into God's sweet sunshine, eat of the divine manna as given in the 
Divine Book, exercise all the spiritual sympathies, emotions, will, 
and "that way" by following Christ "who went about doing good.' 

Dark was the night of life, oars labored heavily, 

Foam glimmered white; the Christian mariners trembled. 

For peril was night. Then saith tlie God of God, "Peace, it is I. 

Kidge of the mountain-wave lower thy crest; 

Wail of the tempest-wind be thou at rest, 

Where saith the Light of light, "Peace, it is I." 

Jesus, Jesus, come Thou to me; smooth Thou my voyage in "that 

way" over life's sea. 
Then when the storm of death roars, sweeping by. 
\vMiisper, Truth of truth, "Peace, it is I." 



30 IN HIS NAME. 



With a child-like trust I give my hand to the mighty Guide at 

my side, 
And the only thing I say to Him as He takes it is, "Hold it fast," 
Suffer me not to lose "that way," and lead me home at last. 



AH, YESTERDAY. 

The stars are still as bright. 
The rose is just as sweet to-night, 
The wind that bloweth from the dark blue sea, 
Bringeth as sweet a fragrance yet to me, 
Then why feel grief, but joy it be, 
Ah, yesterday. 

Last night a shadow fell, all smiles and joys are vain, 
Nothing henceforth can lull the cureless pain; 
Hark to the nightengale, whose throat 
Expands to let the cadence float, 
I hear no longer its fuller, sweeter notes. 
Ah, yesterday. 

Why doth my heart in sorrow beat. 
When all around seems fair? 
My deep-hid asperite pain. 
It comes again, and yet again. 
Ah, yesterday. 

My eyes with saddened tears grow dim, 
Joyless now to me is the bird's sweet hymn. 
I sigh at sight of heaven's starry floor. 
It breathes of days that are no more, 
I wish and long for the noble life that's gone before, 
Ah, yesterday. 

Of the loved one gone, the shadow haunts my dreams. 
From out the bosom of the past, 
I cannot now rejoice — the treasure could not last, 
And because I weep like this. 
Oft-times it is my fullest bliss, 
Ah, yesterday. 

My angel mother's soul my soul doth pulsate. 
With the sweet music that vibrates 



IN HIS NAME. 31 



Down to the pure white lily at my feet; 
The flower droopeth from access of sweet, 
And so doth my heirt with sweet sadness beat. 
Ah, yesterday. 

There never here can be perfect joy for me, 
A sorrow falling like soft rain, 

It faintly glides into my heart then deeply rest in pain, 
And a sacred gift that dwells in heaven, in my bosom reigns. 
Lies deep, too deep for aught buti tears, 
Ah, yesterday. 

Joy sweeping o'er life's harp her wing, 
Deth oft-time strike some minor string; 
And sweetness swells the melody that sadness brings. 
The stars look down with tearful cast, 

My fair, fond mother, ne'er can come again, forever gone the past, 
Ah, yesterday. 



BETTER THAN DIAMONDS. 

The wind rumbled loud as it passed over the cold pavement. 
There was a clear, bright look, and a bold, bracing feeling in the air. 
A keen north-west wind, tliat quickened every step. Just then 
a little child came running along, a poor, ill-clad child. Her clothes 
were scant and threadbare; she had no cloak or shawl and her 
small, uncovered feet looked red and suffering. She carried a 
bundle in her tiny hands. Poor shivering child, could not some 
one do more than merely pity? Ah, she has fallen; with a cry of 
pain she holds tightly the burden in her delicate hands, and jumped 
up, and although she lim^jed sadly, atfcmpted to run as before. 
"Stop, little one, stop," said a sweet voice, and a lady came out of 
a store, near by. "Dear child,'' she said, "are you hurt; sit down 
on these steps and tell me?" "Oh, I cannot," replied the child, 
"I cannot wait. I am in such a hurry. I have been to the store 
to get sewing for mamma, and she has to have it finished to-night 
or else they will not let her have any more to sew." "To-night," 
said the beautiful lady, to-night?" "Yes," answered the fragile 
child, for the stranger's kind, manners made her feel less timid. The 
lady took the package from the little girl's trembling hand and un- 
rolled it; her face flushed and turned pale, as she pictured to her 
mind her own station in life, of affluence, and God's worthy child 



32 IN HIS NAilE. 

of humanity by her side, with the small parcel of contents, that re- 
quired rapid completion, or the stern refusal by the employer 
of further work, accompanied with dismissal. 

'"And where does your mamma live, little girlV" persisted the lady; 
so the child told her where, and that her mother sewed for a living, 
that they were often very cold and hungry, and her mother some- 
times cried, because she had no money to buy any thing to eat, 
until her work, which would often take all day to finish oil', be- 
side the making, and jjossibly then she would not always be certain 
of receiving her honest hard-earned dues, when she delivered it, 
but rather, "come to-morrow; too busy." 

The rich cannot well sympathize with the sad poor, for they never 
mayhap have felt their experiences; but, they nevertheless can relieve 
them a hundred fold, in many instances if they will, if not for 
them, do it for our Jesus' sake. He left the pooi' with us always, 
but Him we have not. He has ascended to His Father and He 
looks down, and beholds His earthly creatures. Do it for Him, do 
it in His name, do it for the Perfected One, the only Son of a loving 
Father, who laid down His precious life for us that through Him we 
shall be saved. Can we not give back to Him some returns of what 
He hath given for us, who are more favored and alleviate the suf- 
fering destitute? Would it not be a token of gratefulness to God, 
"Better than Diamonds." 

The lady's eyes were filled with tears, and she rolled up the bun- 
dle quickly and gave it back to the little girl, but she gave her 
nothing else, and turning away, adding to the child, "go home di- 
rectly, dear, to your mother, ' and stepping into a carriage with 
the assistance of the coachman, rolled ofT. The little girl in the near 
distance eagerly looked after her several iiu)uunts, tiien will: h'.T 
tender little feet, colder than before, ran swiftly towards her home. 
She hastened along until she came to a narrow, damp street, and 
soon passed into a dilapidated sort of a dwelling, where anxiously 
awaited her mother, her sad faded mother, but with a face so sweet, 
so patient. The bundle was again unfolded, a dim lamp helped 
her with her work, for though it was not night yet, her diminutive 
room was very dark, but the light of our blessed Jesus shone bright- 
ly in her heart as she wandered to the far away land where nqne 
will ever hunger or thirst, and the good God shall wipe the tears 
from their eyes. Oh, what a blessed comfort and consolation it is 
for the worthy poor that something glorious awaits them in the 
future still to come. Dear to God are the prayers of His poor. 
He stills the sighing orphan's moans and dries the window's tears. 
Armed by faith and winged by prayer, think what s])irit dwclis 



IN HIS NAME. 33 



within thee, and what Father's smiles are thine and that Jesus died 
to win us. God of wisdom, love and might, our portion evermore. 
He helps the widow and" the fatherless, like some bright dream that 
peacefully comes, when slumber o'er us rolls. To tenderly care for 
the needy and the orphan is angel-work below, it Is a Christ-like 
thing. In each sad accent of distress, Thy pleading voice is heard in 
our behalf. His love is the golden chain that binds our happy souls 
the heirs of heaven. By faith, His ciiildrcn's right we claim, and 
call upon our Father's name. How many chosen poor will be joy- 
fully welcomed into the Celestial City and be robed in Christ's 
righteousness, and how many a rich man who trusted in his riches 
will be left standing outside the gate. 

The little girl's motlier kissed softly her dearly prized cliild, and 
bade it warm its chilled feet over the embers' fire, in the grate, 
and gave her a small piece of bread, for she had no more, and then 
she heard its evening prayer, and folding it tenderly to her breast, 
blessed it, and that dear Jesus would charge His angels to take care 
of her while she slept. The tired child, on its hard bed and scanty 
coverlet, was soon asleep, and it dreamed of warm stockings and 
new shoes, and nice clothes, and a plenteous spread table, but the 
mother sewed on alone. When she recalled to mind her child's bare 
cold feet, and the trifling morsel of stale bread that had not satisfied 
its hunger, there came no visions of a bright room, gorgeous clothes, 
and a table loaded with all that is tempting and delicious, one lit- 
tle portion of which spared to them, would send warmth and com- 
fort to their humble home. The' lone widow clasped her hands, and 
her head bowed low in silent prayer. She finished her petitions by 
olTering up a number of fervent requests to the Great Giver of all 
blessings, the One in whom she trusted. "Christ in God' is all in all. 
He will His pity-aid bestow, for He felt on earth severer woe; 
at once betrayed, denied, or fled by those who sTiared His daily 
bread." Then she read a portion of the Scriptures, (the Book divine 
by inspiration given). How pure is every page, the bright lamp to 
lead us on our way, through all springs of life, the guide of day and 
night, till we behold the clearer light of an eternal day. She 
sought the bedside of her sleeping child, and by its side was soon 
also slumbering .Early the next morning the duties of the day were 
as usual resumed and the child was sent with the completed articles 
sewed the night before. A gentle knock was heard at the widow's 
door, which she opened, and the same beautiful lady who had met 
uer little daughter, and made inquiries of interest in its behalf and 
kindly welfare, entered, followed by a boy carryiny a large filled 
basket of substantial eatables which he deposited upon an empty 



34 IN HIS NAME. 



table, standing near. The lady took the widow's hand, desired her 
U) be seated, and drawing a chair close by, sat down and related, 
explaining how she made the new acquaintance of the little girl who 
told her as explicitly as possible, its history, and of its hard toiling 
mother, and how she h*ad sought them out, and found them, and 
come to relieve their necessities. The boy was sent for much- 
needed fuel and at the same time to cancel the month's rent due. 
Arrangements were considered, and made for a more comfortable 
home and well-paid, regular, permanent work for the widow, while 
her child was to be sent to a healthful nice boarding school to be 
educated. And rising, she noiselessly moving before the widow, placed 
in her hand a small purse of gold, saying in a voice like music, 
"Bless thy God, who is the God of the fatherless and the widow.'" 
And as she went out, whose voice was like the sweet sound of a sil- 
ver lute, she said, "Better than diamonds, better than diamonds.' 
She moved as one that treadeth upon the air to be known and seen 
by an influence Divine. 'Twas scarcely sound; but like the fall 
of angel foot-steps gathering round, then wliisperir.g i^oft, tlien 
silence all as though 'twere hallowed ground. And the divine beauty 
of holiness had so glorified her lovely face, that the widow r ■■', II'.'mi 
joy as she gazed upon her with streaming eyes of gratitude, as she 
blessed God who had sent indeed one of His ministering angels of 
His earthly kingdom to sustain and enrich both mother and child. 
She had trusted in her Lord, who defendeth and providcth for the 
fatherless children and widows, and all who are desolate and op- 
pressed and he succored, helped and comforted her; so in due time 
she enjoyed His favor and the kindly fruits of the earth. 

Ruthlessly crowds surge to and fro, 

With life's conflicting tumults and strife; 

Merrily others come and go. 

In all the revels of life, 

While here and there perchance you meet, 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

Heavily trample steeds of war, 

That shake the earth with their tread; 

Marshaling troops are heard afar. 

And fill the nation with dread; 

But tiirough the narrow path, swift and fleet. 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

'Ihey may not move in stately hall. 
With gilded adornings around; 



IN HIS NAME. 35 



Nor yet in mansions great and tall, 

Where wealth and luxury abound, 

More oft we find with \,he fatherless and God's poor, 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

All the way they've walked beside us. 

Ever near us, though unseen; 

Hidden from our blinded vision, 

By the veil that fell between, 

Whispering tender accents of love and cheer through life's battle fleet, 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

Quiet as eometh the morning light. 

That bringeth the fair, beautiful day; 

Softly as falls the serene shades of night. 

Our tears to vanish away. 

So comes mayhaps, to the lone widow's retreat, 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

Lightly th.e angels maketh no display. 

No sound of trumpet they bring; 

Velvet-tread are their footfalls, be their mission what it may; 

Burdens to them are as wings. 

Heaven and earth unite to greet 

Noiselessly moving, angel feet. 

If the rich would each relieve one poor, worthy person, would 
it not be a glorious action in their lives, that would shine far 
more brilliant in heaven than any earthly diamonds of the first 
water? The cheerful, benevolent deeds of the rich to their Master, 
to aid his suffering, needy children, are recorded by Him in Heaven, 
to their credit. It does not make us poor to give, but rich. The 
liberal sou diall be made fat, and he that watereth shall be watered 
also himself. He that giveth unto the poor, shall not lack. It is 
best if the gift be large, so that it may, if possible, be a self-denial, 
or a self-sacrifice. Must we not carry the cross to wear the crown, 
or would any stai-s of any degree of magnitude sparkle in their 
diadem? What if they have lost their crown by their heedlessness 
and it be given unto him that bestoweth tender mercy? Can the 
rich who shut themselves from compassion's voice expect to re- 
ceive any crown? What pleasure it gives to the real Christian of 
joy to observe the face of the poor brighten up when we seek to 
relieve their wants and satisfy their hunger. Ah! what is a happier 
task, or giveth greater gladness, or leaveth a purer conscience than 
aiding Christ's poor. It is "Better Than Diamonds." 



36 IN HIS NAME. 



MY BIRTHDAY GIFT. 
By May Schieffelin Ingersoll. 

"Mens conscia, recti, memorabilia." 

Another birthday, Lord, I see, 
How very thankful I should be; 
I thank thee for each mercy shown 
Throughout the year that now has flown. 

A birthday gift I humbly claim, 
I ask it in my Saviour's name; 
Thy Holy Spirit let it be, 
may it now descend on me. 

Fill my young heart with light and love, 
Fixing my hojses on things above; 
And on this birthday visit me. 
That I may give myself to Thee. 

"From all that dwell below the skies 
Let our Creator's praise arise; 
Let our Redeemer's name be sung 
Through every land by every tongue. 

"Eternal are thy mercies. Lord, 
Eternal truths attend Thy word; 
Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, 
Till suns shall rise to set no more. 

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow. 
Praise Him all creatures here below; 
Praise Him above ye heavenly host, 
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost." 

Of Him and through Him and to Him are all things to whom 
be glory forever. Amen. 

"If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your 
children, how riiuch more shall your heavenly Father give the 
Holy Spirit; to them that ask Him?" 



IN HIS NAME. 37 



MAF.Y. 
'Maiy Newbold L. 

Mary is a gentle name, 

And they alone should bear it. 
Whose gentle mind and kindly deeds. 

Proclaim them meet to wear it. 
Mary, the first of whom we read, _ 

Is in the Sacred Word; 
The blessed virgin undefiled 

The mother of our Lord. 

Mary to the Saviour knelt. 

And washed his feet with tears; 
Sincere rcpentence then she felt 

For sins of other years. 
With pity touched, the Saviour said. 

"Thy sins be all forgiven." 
And she who knelt a sinner, rose, 

Mary, a child of Heaven. 

Martha, we learn, remained at home, 
"Troubled with many things;" 

While Mary ran in haste to meet, 
Her Lord, the King of kings; 

And he Avho truly read each heart, 
Jesus of her did say, 

Mary hath chosen that good part, 
"Which shall not pass away. 

Mary sought at early dawn 

The tomb from which He brake. 
And her's the first recorded name 

The risen Saviour spake; 
And when the Lord of Heaven became 

The lowly crucified. 
Three Marys stood around the cross, 

And wept when Jesus died. 

Mary, let it be your aim 

To keep these still in view, 
And as you bear their gentle name, 



;« IN HIS NAME. 

Possess their graces too. 
Be meek and lowly, pure in heart, 

By every sin abhored ; 
Like Mary, chose the better part, 

And early seek the Lord. 



ORANGE BLOSSOMS. 

On Her Marria,c;e Day. 

Mary Newbold L. 

'i luy tell me, j;cnt!e lady, that they decked thee for a bride, 
That the wreath was woven for thy hair; the bridegroom by thy side; 
And methinks 1 hear thy father's sign, and thy mothers softer tone. 
As they gave thee to another, their beautiful, their own. 

And w lien they recall how often they have seen thee with thy mild 
And lovily look, fair girl, and bearing like a child; 
1 would that as my heart dictates, just such might be my lay, 
And my voice slioiild be the sound of joy, as music like tlie May. 

A voice is lloating round me, and it tells me in my rest. 
That sunshine shall illume thy path, that joy shall be tliy guest, 
Ihat thy life shall be a summer day, whose evenin_g shall go down. 
Like the evening in the eastern clime, that never knows a frown. 

\Vhen thy foot was at the altar, when the ring hath pressed thy hand, 
When those thou lov'st, and those that love thee, round tliee stand. 
May the verse that "Friendship' weaves, like a spirit of the air, 
Be o'er thee at that moment, for a blessing and a prayer. 



THE RICH AND THE POOR. 

Few but tlie poor feel for the poor, but God. 

The rich know not how hard 
It is to be of needful food 

And needful rest debarred. 

The rich dwell in patlis of plenteousness, 

They sleep on silk and down; 
And never care how heavily 

The weary head lies down. 



IN HIS NAME. 39 



The rich know not the scanty meal, 

The poor with pale face sit around; 
No fire upon the cold, ^amp hearth, 

When snow is on 'the ground. 

They ever by the window of tlieir poor homes lean. 

And see the rich pass by; 
Then take tlieir weary task again, 

Hut with a sadder eye. 

Oil, never turn away from the destitute and poor. 

Never add a single burden to the sorrows they endure; 

Never seek but the light, ever shunning sin's dark night. 

Always thanking (lod in heaven daily for his blessings given. 

Never add a blight to our precious Saviour's name, 

Never seek by word or action to rob philanthropy of its fame; 

Never do but what is right, help the poor, and do no wrong. 

That at htst when done with earth well sing tTie angel's song. 

The poor's "mite" is the produce of slumberless hours. 

While the rich are locked in sleep; 
When sighing round their thin thatched roof, 

The air-storms of winter creep. 

It is the produce of berry days. 

Spent in a dreary room; 
While the rich have gone to taste 

Summer resort's balmy bloom. 

'Tis given from a scanty store and self-denied, although it is given. 
'Tis given, for the claims of mother-earth are less than Jesus' heaven; 
His throne is witli the orphans and the poor, he counts the good we 
do herein, 
And meek obedience too is light, and following that is finding Him. 

When the reaping angels bring wheat and tares before the King, 
Jesus, may the rich and poor gathered be in the heavenly barn 
with Thee, 

Tiiy home is with the humble. Lord, the simply innocent are the blest. 
Thj^ lodgings are in child-like hearts. Thou makest there Thv rest. 



4U IN HIS NAME. 



SOWING THE SEED BY THE WAYSIDE. 

I dropped a seed by the wayside, in ii, path, 
And went on my busy way. 
Till chance or fate, I say not which, 
Lead me one summer day. 

Along the self-same path, and lo, 
A flower blooming there, 
As fair as eye has looked upon, 
And sweet as it was fair. 

I dropped a seed by the wayside, a sympathetic word, 
Nor stayed to watch it grow; 
For little tendings needed when 
The seed is good we sow. 

But once I met the man again, 
And by the gladsome way, 
He clasped my hand I knew I sowed 
The best of seed that day. 

The doubtful seed we have sown. 
Shall well disprove a cold, uncertain rootage. 
And vindicate the hope we now disown. 
By fairest fruitage. 



TILLIE AND CARRIE. 

Twin Sisters. 

Meum et tuum. luncta in uno. 

Exquisitely beautiful! Sweet pair, either apart 

Might win a monarch's undivided heart, 

Like two rays of one celesstial flame, 

Two virgin lilies, leaf for leaf the same. 

Two snow-white little birds, two chords of equal tone. 

They beam, they blush, look, breathing unison, 

Nature hath designed their co-equal beauty, 

To place our hearts with choice, non-plus'd twixt love and duty. 

Had some sweet discord marr'd their mutual grace, 
Had manners varied, though still like in face^ 



IN HIS NAME. 41 



Had any change but marked a single feature, 

To alterant the countenance, would it have been kind of Nature? 

Having once beheld the twain together. 

Our hearts must long for both, or fix on neither; 

Nature hath designed their co-equal beauty, 

To place our hearts with choice, non-plus'd twixt love and duty. 

And as we gaze on the beautiful pair. 

The roses bloom on their fair cheeks and then it is flown, 

Like the flush of a sunny day's first new dawn; 

Their smiles toss the gentle breeze "mid the garden rays, 

From spray to spray their hearts beat love in their innocent plays. 

No purer pearls are the tears that shine in their dreamy eyes; 

Nature hath designed their co-equal beauty. 

To place our hearts with choice, non-plus'd twixt love and duty. 

Beneath the trees together they wander'd hand in hand. 

It was summer weather, and joy was in the land; 

Their hearts were light, heart bound to heart, faithful and true, 

The sun shone bright and as they went along 

Their clear chorus voices mingled across the grassy lawn. 

And floated in our ears like the mocking bird's sweet song; 

Nature hath designed their co-equal beauty. 

To place our hearts with choice, non-plus'd twixt love and duty. 

Forget me, not, sweet darling sister, 

Though I've gone far, far away — 

Up in yonder ethereal azure splendor, I remember you today, 

And I'll love and watch and wait for thee in Heaven's gateway. 

It seems as if we do not fully appreciate true worth until death 
makes a void and we then realize rightly what our precious darling's 
life, her sweet, patient spirit meant, and faithful until death and 
through all eternity — Tillie and Carrie. But the smile that played 
about her angel sweet face, her lovely eyes, big and brown, smiling 
one minute and grave the next, and pretty dimpled cheeks, will live 
always in our memory. Her pure life is marked with honesty of 
purpose and highest aspirations. Beyond endurance the crown is 
waiting. Forever we shall endure the life and Light of the Eternal 
City. Forever our cherished precious darlings who rest above with 
Jesus, in his love. Her favored soul He, our Heavenly Father, with 
love, bore, and with our blessed Lord Jesus and yon bright angel- 
forms, "She lives lo die no more." 



42 IN HIS NAIVIE. 



MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. 

There'll be light at eventide. 

The day has been, oh, so dreary, 
With its tempests, winds and rain; 
I had longed for one ray of sunshine, 
But all day long in vain. 

And the night was closing around me, 
Lonely and cold, without one sunny ray 
As I sat by the side-window watching, 
The death of the dreary day. 

1 opened my Mother's Bible, 
And on its sacred page I read. 
What one of the grand old prophets, 
In time of trouble said. 

The sweet and comforting promise 
That bids us in faith abide, 
When the day is dark with tempest, 
"There'll be light at eventide." 

Lo, as I read the chapter. 
Dear to each trusting heart, 
The clouds above the billows 
Suddenly broke apart. 

Bright with unearthly beauty, 

The valley stretched away; 

And God's sunshine was all about me. 

At the close of the dreary day. 



THE BROKEN PITCHER. 

My first essay and what came of it? "A life that is told." 
An invalid was in conversation with an always welcome friend, 
who had frequently visited her during her sickness. The visitor 
spoke to her of the strength and comfort she received from her 
beautiful patience under affliction and agonizing pain. Tears filled 
the partly closed eyes of the sufferer and she was silent for a few 



IN HIS NAME. 43 



inoinents; then she said, "'Ah, my child, before you came in I was 
tliinking of the story of the broken pitcher. The poor little pitchi i 
lamented that its life's little day of usefulness was past, yet in an 
emergency it was the means of carrying a life-draught of water to 
one in sore need, and I wondered, 'Is my work for my Master 
in this world at an end?' or may I, like the broken pitcher, yet 
carry for Him the living water to refresh some way-faring child. 
And if I have helped you, have brought a draught of the water to 
you, who will carry it so gladly to the refreshment of others, I am 
more than thankful. I rejoice that I may suflTer for His sake." 



SPRING. 



Welcome, happy Sjiring, again thou bringest 

Flowers fair and odors sweet, 

While the song birds are singing 

Thy return with joy to greet. 

All the beauty that lay buried, 

Bound by Winter's icy chain, 

All the joys that might have perished 

Thou hast brought to us again. 

No, not all. My restless spirit 
From thy presence sadly turns, 
And for one thou canst not bring me, 
W^ith a weary longing yearns. 
Oh, my heart, my heart is buried 
Where the weeping trees softly wave; 
Spring, thy purest flowers are lying, 
Sacred upon my mother's grave. 

At thy presence Nature smileth 
Bright from every flower and tree, 
But 'tis not the smile of lovingness. 
That my mother had for me. 
Thou hast taught the merry warblers 
At thy coming to rejoice; 
But they bring me not the music 
Of my mother's gentle voice. 

Spring had the earth enshrouded. 
In a snowy winding sheet; 



44 IN HIS NAME. 

When the angels came to bear her, 
To her home with noiseless feet. 
Then the sun seemed out in heaven, 
While my heart grew faint and chill, 
And though all around be brightness, 
Winter rests upon it still. 

Midnight darkness gathered o'er me 
As I passed that last "good-night;'' 
I to tread this world of sorrow, 
She to walk the halls of light. 
And 'tis only when in slumber. 
Cheered my spirit soars above. 
That she walks again beside me, 
With my mother's smile of love. 

And in dreamland I often, often, ^ 

Roam amid the woodland wild ; 

He€dlf^s of the world around me, 

In her arms again, a child. 

Or beside the placid bay. 

Wander when the day is o'er, 

Listening as the mimic billows, 

Play against the pebble shore. 

And I wonder when the angels, 
Shall come to bear me on. 
O'er that dark and foaming river. 
To the land where she is gone. 
For the frangrance of the flowers, 
Morning zephyrs oft-times bring, 
And I almost catch the music. 
From that land of endless spring. 

God's comfort, oh, how tender, loving. 

Softly as the quivering dew drop it glides into my breast, 

Like the soothing choru* of happy angels. 

Lulling a sad spirit to rest. 

By His grace He will safely lead me. 

Gently through sorrow's dark night, 

And my soul, chastened, but peaceful. 

Strengthened, will walk in His light. 



IN HIS NAME. 4.1 



As sorrows crushed are heavenly sweet, 

As petals of the flowers 

Waft fragrance on the breeze, 

That o'er it harshly blows; 

So perfume from a lily low bent. 

Ascends upon the air, 

So from its chastened soul doth rise 

Incense of voice and prayer. 



THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

When I entered the churchyard it was on the Sabbath morning, 
a morning one of the most serene and sweetest of the season. 
Summer had robed the earth in luxuriant beauty save a few fleecy 
cloudlets far on the ethereal depths. The whole bosom of the sky 
was blue and beautiful, and nature with a silent rejoicing, seemed 
to bask in the warmth of the genial sun. All around was tranquil. 
The hum of busy life outside was hushed, and even inanimate 
nature seemed to feel and own the presence of the Deitys appointed 
Sabbath. And the lovely birds that nestled in the branches of the 
lofty trees above the tufted grass at my feet, caroling fitfully as 
they fluttered and soared, all appeared in the ear of imagination 
to hasten its gay lyric notes to something of a sad, sweet melody, 
beneath the willows and the green sward. 

And in the center of the irregular inclusure, ornamented by grand 
old willows, stands the picturesque edifice of antiquity, an Impressive, 
preserved landmark of its city. A curious feature of the exterior is 
the "clock tower" with spires, which altogether closely resemble 
the pedestal and shaft of the Worth monument. A broad portico 
ushers its followers into an attractive and very ancient auditorium. 
The ceiling is arched, and the gallery pillars, extending up to help 
support the roof, giving the galleries a quaint-like appearance. Sit- 
ting within the sacred church, endeared edifice, and under the in- 
fluence of the venerable and stately interior, dream of Christian 
worship in a previous century, till the splendid singing of the quar- 
tette, and the eloquent clergyman's vigorous preaching on the reli- 
gious and secular topics of the day dispel the sweet illusion. 

Earth to earth, and dust to dust. 

Children we of mortal birth, 
Of the earth created, must before a glorious life arise. 

Back return again to earth. 



4« liSr HIS NAME. ^ 

Rich or poor, or high or low, 

Learned or unlearned, wise or not, 
To this end, alike they go; 

All must share the common lot. 

Not with the bustling noise and din, 

With which our living homes we rear; 
'today are we assembled in 

Tiiis sacred place to feelings dear. 
For is it not a hallowed spot. 

This place where we shall ask to lie, 
W'itli those we love? Oh, to me is it not 

The holiest spot beneath the sky? 

Here where swells yon fair blue sky above, 

And spreads this rich green sward beneath, 
We set apart for those we love, 

A fit abode in gentle death; 
That not as with the sadden gloom, 

Of clostered cell, mausoleum, crypt and time-worn tower, 
We link the memories of the tomb, 

But with the sunshine and the flowers. 

Why should the memories of the dead, 

Be ever those of gloom and sadness? 
Why should their dwellings not be made of ilorai gladness? 

With heart ever yearning to them we are turmnc in rapture 
our eyes, 
Calm be their pillow. 

Beneath the green willow; 
Joyful their welcome 

On Heaven's bright shore. 

When dearest ones by death's cold hand bereft us, 

In the beautiful churchyard are laid; 
When sweetest ties are riven, 

We check the murmuring sigh; 
The lost will back be given. 

Where they no more can die; 
The parted meet in Heaven, 

The land beyond the sky. 

Earth to earth, and dust to dust. 

Earth when those we love shall leave. 



IN HIS NAME. 47 



For tlicir ashes, sacred trust, 

Tliiis we consecrate the grave. 
O'er their lifeless forms, we gently place the sod, 

Rear the sad sepulchral urn, 
While their glorious spirit to the good God, 

Ihat bestowed them first, return. 

Earth to earth, and dust to dust. 

Children we of mortal birth. 
Of the earth created, nuist before a glorious life arise, 

Back return again to earth. 
Rich or poor, or high or low, 

Learned or unlearned, wise or not. 
To this end alike they go. 

All must share the common lot. 



MY LITTLE TRUNDLE BED. 
Our Home Farm. 
(.'hildliood (hiys. Ah, they are gone as happy and balmy days do, 
'ere their value we knew. A queen once oflered millions on a dying 
bed for an inch of time. Oiler no reward for Father Time is gone 
into eternity. Our life is but diamond sparks that glitter as they 
pass, tending upward to the great beyond. Life is a vapor; man's a 
flower; he dies; alas, how soon he dies. "It is not time that flies; 
'tis we, 'tis we, are flying. It is not time that dies; 'tis we, 'tis we. 
are dying." 

As 1 wandcreei 'round our home farm, 

Many a dear familiar oft-remembered, though now sequestered spot . 
Brought within my recollections, 
Scenes I'd seemingly forgot. 

There the orchard, the meadow, the bottom yonder. 
Here the deep crystal spring and spring-house I know so well. 
\\ ith its old moss-covered sand-stones and buckets. 
Sent a thrill no tongue can tell. 

Though the house is now held by kindly strangers, 
All rcjnains the same within; 
Just as when we children rambled. 
Up and down and out and in. 



48 IN HIS NAME. 

To the garret dark and steep, ascending, 

Once a source of childish dread, 

Peering at the little sparrow's bird nests, and through tlie misty 

cobwebs, 
Lo, I saw my little tundle bed. 

Quick I drew it from the rubbish. 
Covered o'er with dust up there so long, 
When behold, I heard as in infancy. 
Strains of one familiar oft-sung song. 
Often sung by my sweet mother 
To me in my little trundle bed, 
Hush, my darling, lay still and slumbor, 
Holy angels guard thy bed. 

While I listened to the enchanting music, 

Wafting on in gentle, silvery strains, 

I am carried back to childhood, 

I am now a little child again. 

'Tis the hour of my retiring, 

At the dusk of eventime. 

Nearby my little trundle bed I'm kneeling. 

As in yore by mamma's side. 

Her hands are on my little head of gold so loving, 

As they were in childhood days; 

I with earnest tones am trying 

To repeat the words she says. 

"Tis a prayer in language simple. 

As a mother's lips alone can frame, 

"Our Father which art in heaven. 

Hallowed be Thy name." 

Prayer is over, to my tiny pillow. 
With a good-night kiss I creep. 
Scarcely waking while I whisper, 
"Now I lay me down to sleep;" 
And mamma o'er me bending. 
Prays in sineerest words, but mild, 
"Hear my prayer, O Heavenly Father, 
Bless, O bless my darling child." 

Yet I am but only dreaming, 
Ne'er I'll be a child again; 



IN HIS NAME. 4U 



Many j'ears have my sweet mother, 
In that very beautiful graveyard lain, 
But her blessed angel spirrt, 
Daily hovers o'er my head, 
Calling me from earth to heaven. 
Even from my trundle bed. 

U er me spirits in the air silent vigils seem to keep, 

As I breathe my childhood prayer, "Now I lay me down to sleep." 

iSadly sings the whip-poor-will, in bough of yonder tree a uiiiliiiglit 

melody, 
Beneath the twinkling stars on high, gazing through tiic shades 

of night. 
Low I breathe in Jesus' ear, "1 pray the Lord my soul to k(>ep," 
In those starry stars one face 1 see, above the canyon ilark and deep; 
One the Saviour took away, my precious mother, 
Who taught my baby lips to say, 
"If I should die before I wake 
I pray the Lord my soul to take," above this 
Lonely mountain brake, "And this I ask for .Jesus sake," 
Whose tender love will ne'er forsake. Amen. 

Unerring thanks to "our Fatlier which art in heaven" for a 
religion that can carry to the great beyond brightness into the 
depths of darkness, that can cause broken hearts and hand clasps 
to realize that the ties which bind heart to heart and knit life 
to life on earth, will become* stronger and sweeter as our love is 
purified and exalted in the home of the soul. A sympathizing Ood, 
who had promised never to turn away, hears the morning cry, and 
the sunlight of Divine love shines in on their hearts, upward lifting 
them in hope of a blessed immortality in the land of joy and song, 
with their loved ones redeemed. 

"One less at home, one less on earth, 
"One more in heaven at home with God."' 



GODS BIRTHDAY AND OUR BIRTHDAY. 

My birthday. How that word to mind recalls the time my boyish 

sense. 
First swelled with fancies scarce defined, of coming hanhood, ages 

thence. 



50 llSi HIS NAJVIE. 



Alas, the change, now, that \vliieh si'i'nied before me sj)iead, an 

age's sjjat-e, 
Looked back uijon is scarcely deemed a hurried heat in life's short 

race. 

My birthday. Yet another, still they swell like wave on ocean wave; 
And 1 shall soon have climbed that hill, whose sole descent is to the 

grave. 
Another mile-stone have I passed upon this toilsome road of strife. 
And it perchance may stand the last to mark my journeys end in life. 

My birthday. Shall 1 live to see another"? I have elsewhere asked. 
And there have many been like me, with this same question them- 
selves have tasked; 
Yet cui bono? Still like me, no wiser they, than e'en before, 
,For that which is to be will be, thus much we know and can no more. 

The return of a birthday is a signal for gratitude. Those near 
and dear to us wish us many happy returns of the same, mingled 
with joy's greetings. On each approaching anniversary, often is add- 
ed many tokens of loving remembrance, tendered souvenirs of love and 
friendship's regard. But what is joy? Is it only a holiday? But 
what is a birthday? Is it only a game of play? rambling, chat- 
tering, merry-making, feast-keeping? Is this all the joy of a birth- 
day? Away, far away, be all such feeble interpretations of the 
word. Then, what is birthday joy? Is it not the joy of parents, 
when they see their children growing up in the fear of the Lord, 
and in the practice of holiness each advancing year? Is it not the 
joy of the husbandman when he sees his crop ripe and plentiful and 
ofi'ering the promise of harvest? Is it not the joy of the gardner 
when he perceives his young trees thrive and blossom and bear fruit ? 
Is it not the joy of the mother-bird, when, after all her watchings 
and tremblings and flutfcerings over the nest, she sees iicr little ones 
begin to fly and become capable of answering the end of divine 
Providence in their creation? Is it not the joy of the minister, 
when after hours, days, months and years spent In .admonitional 
sermons, warnings, teachings, guidings and prayers, praying for, and 
affectionately like a tender shepherd superintending his flock's best 
interests, that each one in his fold may prove a living, commentary 
on the precepts received, sees the young increasing in grace, love 
and humility, and fruitful in acts of obedience and activity, as buds 
of promise, cheering the heart of their instructor, surrounding rela- 
tives and friends, with bright prospects of usefulness through life 



IN HIS NAME. 51 



in all its relating- cirfiinistanfcsV If siu-li be tlie ingredients of birth- 
day joys w lien duly estimated, may they always be received 
welcoiiily as a gratilieatiuu in expressing joy when tlicy return, and 
can be participated in and worthily appreciated. God bless our 
birthdays. Time flies, opportunityi flies, childhood, youth and man- 
hood fly. Onward, onward, all birthdays are hastening to a grand 
eonsunimalion. What a solemn consideration. Birthdays are days 
which should remind us of the importance of time, and tlie swift ap- 
prdaching eternity. A birthday bids us '"remember our Creator 
iu the days of our youth." Have we done so aright? Have we 
been conscientious in all things? When some of the family circle 
are absent at our birthday celebration, may love, memory and 
imaginatii.n bring them all together, and half fill the vacant chairs, 
which they used to occupy. If God were to see good to bring us to 
a bed of death ere another of our birthday festivals come around, 
do we possess the evidence that we are really His child? And are we 
ready as a pardoned sinner, resigned to J lis just will in His own 
time, be it life or death? May we ever conceive all our birthdays 
to the glory of God, may everlasting consolation and the blessed 
Christ become our gracious Saviour, received, loved and honored by 
us throughout eternity's birthdays. Events are uncertain, provi- 
dence, health and life are transient and unstable. How can we bet- 
ter contemplate the real worth of life, the vanity of the world, the 
worth of a soul, and the need of a Saviour, than when the lapse of 
time brings "round the anniversary of our birth? It seems to con- 
centrate all the experience, feeling of past days and to unite them 
with the anticipation of those which are yet to come. If God wills 
may they bloom and bear fruit, and speak to youth a-nd old age alike, 
and summon both to prayer and meditation. Eternity overwhelms 
all the concerns of time and anniversaries, but will infallibly take 
its character from them. Infancy, childhood, youth and manhood, 
how briefly they all pass forever. Every day is God's thanksgiving 
day, but the Sabbath is God's birthday. And he gives us the op- 
portunity of celebrating it to His -honor and glory by keeping it 
sacredly reserved for Him, and He rewards us with a smiling coun- 
tenance of His well pleased favor. Our earliest impressions should 
be so assoeiated that God's tenderness to us is an expression of 
love towards us. His reproofs are not willingly afflicted by Him, 
and He desires them to work out for us a far more exceeding weight 
of glory; spiritually and eternally. He returns His smile that was 
withdrawn, and gains an ascendency over our feelings and alTections, 
causing us to regard that smile as a rich reward. How beauteous 
arc they whose childish hearts with influence sweet are unward 



IN HI8 NAME. 



drawn to God, and wliose infant feet are found within our Father's 
shrine; those early feet the path of peace have trod, and their 
birthday years with changeless virtue crowned were all alike divine. 
Let us, dependant on His bounties breath, seek His grace jrlone, and in 
infancy, childhood, manhood, age and death, keep us still Thine 
own. Anniversaries of our birthdays are seasons of festivity, and 
we awake on the morn of our anniversary's birth with C4od"s con- 
gratulations and blessings. We cannot love Jesus too affectionately, 
or trust in His blood and righteousness too firmly. We should be 
monuments of mercy, believing, loving, praying. ]5oth in childhood 
and youth every innocent pleasure resorted to in varied exercises 
and instructions are commendable, sjjiritua] and temporal. Jesus is 
the sun of our little system, and from Him we derive the light and 
glow of domestic and heavenly happiness; and He teaches us more 
eflectually by sympathy than precept, unfolding religion to us in 
us most attractive forms. Gloom and melancholy are exempt and we 
tlius live a life of cheerfulness and resignation to our Heavenly 
Father's will, cherished and comforted of God. There is, we be- 
lieve, something about a birthday which makes men stop and think, 
whether they choose to or not. Some realization of the significance 
attaching to each such anniversary and inseparable from it, must 
perforce be born into the mind and inner-consciousness of even the 
most indifferent observer. The unsatisfied race goes on forever and 
forever, longing for that which has thus far eluded their eager grasp, 
or else deploring the loss of vanished good, but forgetting continually 
to be fittingly mindful of the goodness of God, for an additional 
added birthday, and life-sustaining food and raiment, provided anu 
furnished through His merciful kindness and tender care. Let us 
trustingly enter into the festivities of the glad birthday, sending up 
a prayer of praise and gratitude for all the good vouchsafed and 
hoping still for more. IMrthdaj's, how memory flows with lava-tide. 
Every birthday is a proof in an \uispoken voice and silent warning 
that one more year has been deducted from the number allotted to 
us from the beginning. We spend our years as a tale that is told. 
The days of our years are three-score years and ten, and if by rea- 
son of strength they be four score years, yet is there strength labor 
and sorrow, for it is soon cut otf and we fly aAvayv "So teach us to 
number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." The 
total of our birthdays is at best a short, passing pilgrimage. Springs 
bubbling brooklets purled, then shone summer's sun, the teeming 
autumn's prime, and the snowy crown of luried winter. Then the 
spirit's pinions were unfurled in a glorious flight for that eternal 
clime, who thus in dying, but begins to live. P^'om a world of sin, 



IN HIS NAME. 53 



sonow, euro and woe, to a realm where sin may; not enter in, and 
vvlierc sorrow they never know; from a clime w'here by cold and heat, 
our spirits are ever tried, to that perfect world where the just shall 
iiu'ct ; from earth's dross, all puiified. Wiuit a word, what a reflec- 
tion is eternity, what prospects does it set before us. What incon- 
ceivable mysteries are involved in it. How it makes the things of 
t.me, honor, wealth, position, dwindle into insignificance; there none 
can penetrate the veil which separates them from heavenly joys, 
which only belong to everlasting peace. It is onh' the intercessory 
])rayer of Christ that can render our prayers and petitions accept- 
able and elllcacious and it is only by a lively faith in the great Inter- 
cessor tiiat we can obtain a heart to pray. How many look more to 
the vessel than to the excellency of the treasure contained in it. 
May it be not so with our birthdays. May each returning one bring 
us nearer to God and Christ. When Goethe, of Berlin, celebrated 
Ills aniiivci sary birthday, it had long been a privilege of a great 
j)ublic school there that the four best girls were allowed to con- 
gra-tulate him. They went in their best white dresses, adorned with 
flowers, each bearing a plate with a heap of the lovliest flowers artist- 
ically piled around a lemon. The valet received and announced 
them. Then Goethe came, accepted the flower heaps, one by one, 
heard each child recite a little poem, and shook hands and talked 
witii Lliem, inquiring about this and that. The flowers were shaken 
into a basket, and the lemons were collected on a plate. The 
cliildren's plates were returned to them. At last Goethe beckoned to 
the valet, who laid half a head jiiece, an old Austrian coin, on each 
cliiUrs plate. This meant th;it the audience was ended. * 

Always honor on thy birtliday, next to thy Creator, thy mother 
with some appropriate gift on thy birthday; for instance a hand- 
some surprise. Morris chair, the largest you can find, as large as 
your heart is extended wide; or present: her with a crisp treasury 
Tiute; let it not be a single dollar, but be liberal, double the one 
twenty times, it is for mother, remember then make it a $20. You 
will never regret it. it will return to you again a himdred fold. It 
may not be in thy way, it may not be in my way, but it will be 
in His way, as pleases God. Your reward shall be great, in 
years after when mother has passed away. Millions will not buy her. 
Then show her that you honor and love her before it is too late. 

'"Don't wait until her tired steps 

Reach heaven's pearly gate; 
But show her that you honor and love her, 

Before it is too late." 



54 l>i liiS NAME. 



Give your father also a birtlulay gift. He is assuredly worthy of 
his siiare, too, and his silence speaks more impressively than words — 
■"Forget me not." "What is home without a mother?" Yes, that is 
ail right, but "What is home without a father?" "God Bless Our 
ilome is mayhaps the motto picture hanging on the wall of your 
home dwelling, and the letters worked beautifully in silk floss, an 
exquisite piece of domestic handiwork. Does that mean father and 
mother too? It is ovir heavenly Father's couiniand (and the lirsl 
with promise) — -"Honor thy father and thy muiher that thy days 
may be long upon the land whieii the Lord thy God givetli thee." 
l<'ather gets up early in the morning and lights the fire for prepar- 
ing breakfastj and wipes oil' the "dew of the dawn'' with his boots. 
\viiile mother is sleeping he makes the little handouts for the familj 
al tlie store, etc., ami liis little pile of bills is greatly less in an hour. 
l''atlier read a portion of the Scripture to us night and morning 
and lead us in prayer; he pronounces the table blessing. Father 
stands oil' the bailiti", and keeps the rent paid up. Father is the 
first one that galops off on horseback lor us when we are sick, 
for a doctor, and if he is absent, visiting patients, father 
hastens almost breathlessly for another physician. Father is 
the lirst one to waken if a noise occurs during the night, 
as our iirotecting defense, and battle with those who belong to 
Satan, the house-breaker-in," the nuuilerc'r, those enemies of God 
and the people of God, the workers and evil doers of iniquity whom 
(iod declareth in His recompensing vengence, lliat they shall not en- 
ter into tln' lest that remaineth for the people of God. Mother 
darns ciur stockings neatly for us. Father- gave the money for 
tnem and the yarn and needles afterwards. Mother does up the 
fruit, father bought it all, and the sugar and glass cans. "What 
is home without mother?" Yes, that is all right, but "What is home 
without a father?" Ten chances to one it means a boarding house, 
father is under the sod, and mother, the proprietress, is a widow. 
Dear father we will deeply mourn for your return w^hen you are 
gone, remembered for what you have done. May we at the present 
remember you with filial aU'ection, as becoming thy child, before it 
is too late. 

What an inexpressable, enjoyable affair is a birthday. What a 
thankful blessing it is to greet father, mother, sisters and brothers 
and joyfully exclaim, "We are all here." What a blessed, happy 
group of weight in gold. Could you, reader, say the same? Not all 
can, by tens of thousands, and if you humbly dwell in a log cabin, 
a family entire, never yet separated by the hand of death, mayhaps 
the inmates of a bereaved Household of a palace Avould gladly ex- 



IxN 1118 NAME. 55 



i-lumgo posilioii^ to bo, "We are all here, exchanging their sorrow's 
grief for your blessing undivided. Cluster of loved our own, that 
can join hand in liand and, heart with heart 'round our happy home 
family altar and fireside's charmed circle, for you possess, although 
you may: be inconiprenhensive of it, what millions or billions cduld 
not replace or restore, and what the magnet could not purchase nor 
gras]) when once llowu, and some, no doubt, would sacrifice fortune 
and resort to laboring witli their willing hands for the stall' of 
life, if they could regain tlicir lifeless treasures they no longer be- 
hold. At the present time being we do not appreciate worth, our 
priceless jewels, until God hath removed and taken them to adorn 
tiie gold in His heavenly mansions, far beyond our view and reach, 
and we are left to mourn in sack cloth and ashes. It has to come 
home to ourselves, the break, tlie \;u-aiit chaii'. (he longed-for 
fiuiiiliar absent face of lovliiiess, lliat no one on earth can com- 
pare with for us, l)efore we fully and truly realize what under 
the green sward means, and its depths that rhetoric cannot define, 
only God can, and His sympathy comes wafting to us from His 
throne, or we would collapse under its poignancy. He counts our 
griefs and our sorrows as His own, and notes our every tear witii 
His blessing in disguise, 'i'liere is nothing always perfect here be- 
low, we must look upwards for perfection, where there is no 
variableness, neither shadow of turning. It is very lovely to receive 
a gift on our birthday from either paternal or maternal parent, or to 
present them with one on their respective birthdiays. It is a choice 
expression of faithful and true love, and of high honor and promise, it 
matters immaterially how simple the present, it is not the price nor 
the value, but the act and the motive, and more appreciated given 
at or from home, sweet home, than a costl}' diadem or tiara from 
a nidnanh. Tt is I'ather to be exceedingly more to be pi'i/.ed than a 
finger gold-circle, with a sapphire set in gold four-leaved clnyer, or 
better, a solitaire, set in the same way, coming to \is fidui a nobility 
of power. It is the act, and those the nearest and most precious 
by ties of kindredship and the purity and innocence of the donar, to 
be considered. An enemy or friend in wolf's clothing might present 
us with a present where death was lurking within a basket of 
flowers or various harmfulness, while a little child would gleefully 
hand or bring us a tiny blossom, in its pure little hand that knows no 
ffuile, and of whom our heavenly Father saith we must become like- 
wise to inherit the kingdom of God and to enter therein. The 
life-understanding acknowledges that truest happiness and solidity 
of pleasure is derived from the heart, when it comes from a Christian 
home, for it is symbolical of our home in honven. and where mother's 



56 IN HIS NAME. 



face looks only the brighter and the sweeter from the daily trials and 
tribulations she has passed through iuid laid them at the foot ot 
the cross, on the Rock of Ages, while father rejoices in God, who 
worketh all things to His will and good pleasure to them who can 
say with Joshua of old, "As for me and my house, we will serve the 
Lor'd." And no better day could we invoke the gifts of the Holy 
Spirit, and give ourselves to Thee than on our birthday. 



THE HOLY LAND. 



Palestine, or the Holy Land, occupies the suuliieasteruio»t part 
oi Syria. It is illustrious for being the scene of most of the events 
recorded in the sacred Scriptures. The surface is diversified with 
mountains and valleys. Of the former, Lebanon has lung been 
noted for its cedars; Tabor for the transfiguration of Christ, and 
the IMount of Olives as the scene of His ascension to lieaven. 
Jerusalem was in ancient time the capital of the .Jewish nation, 
and frequently the resort of Jesus and His disciples. It lies thirty 
miles east of the Mediterranean Sea, and bears a gloomy aspect 
on account of being more secludedly governed by Jews, Christians 
and Mahommedans, and the veneration held by them whicli siill 
pi'ocures it the visit of many pious pilgrims. Bethlehem, six miles 
south of Jerusalem, is remarkable as the birth-place of our Saviour. 
Nazareth, where He resided imtil He commenced His ministry, is 
next to Jerusalem, the most holy place in Palestine. Acre, noted 
for its seiges. Gaza and Joppa are the principal towns on the 
coasts. No country was in ancient times more celebrated than Syria. 
In the southwest was the land of Israel, the birthplace of the Jew- 
ish and Christian religion. Tyre and Sidon are renowned for their 
commerce. Baabbee and Palmyra, once splendid cities, are now in 
ruins. Damascus, the capital, was an important city four thousand 
years ago. It is situated on a beautiful plain and noted for its fine 
gardens. Aleppo was the largest city in Syria. In 1822 it was 
almost destroyed by an earthquake; but it is slowly reviving. On 
the Euphrates at Hillah, in Asia, are the ruins of Babylon, the 
most elegant city of ancient times. The remains of Nineveh, the 
once renowned capital of the Assyrian empire, are on tlie Tigris River 
below Mosul. Asia is the largest of the great divisions of the globe. 
It was the seat of some of the most powerful empires of ancient 
times and the theatre of many interesting facts and events, recorded 
in history. Here our fii-st parents were created and from hence the 



IN HIS NAME. 57 



descendants of Noah peopled the world, after the flood. Iti was also 
the birth-place of our blessed Saviour; the scene of His miracles and 
death, and the field on which the apostles first published salvation 
to man. A large amount of this vast multitude is involved in 
heathen darkness, but the exertion of Christians, missionaries and the 
distribution of the Holy Scriptures in various Asiatic languages, will 
in time enlighten the nations and lead to the spiritual redemption 
of this continent which comprise a greater variety of ^races than 
other quarters of the world. Cana was a thriving village on the 
highway through the hills west of Gallilee. From the main road a 
number of narrow, irregular streets wind up and along a low 
hillside, and were bordered by houses that were built mostly of 
stone. The inhabitants had need for thrift and industry, if it were 
only because of the tax gatherers, for Herod Anitpas Avas build- 
ing palaces, fortresses and cities. He was living in niagnillcence, 
as were his many officers. All the people of his dominions paid 
taxes and bribes to him and them. While the consequences were 
often painful enough, there were no signs of actual poverty in the 
vicinity of the "well." It stood several paces in front of a dwelling, 
two stories in height, which seemed somewhat better than its 
neighbors. The porch along its lower story was thickly clad witli 
vines, and from under these the girl had come to bring her jar to 
tne well. A Jewish maiden of nearly fifteen was accounted a full 
grown woman, and the slightness of her graceful figure did not 
interfere with an air of maturity which her present state of mina 
much increased. Her simple dress that became her so well, wa« of 
good material. Ranged on either side of the well were six large, 
cumbrous looking water-pots of stone ware partly filled for the 
convenience of any person wishing to perform the foot or hand 
ablutions required by the exacting ceremonial laws of the Jews. 
The vine-clad porch was a pleasant place. It was provided with 
wooden benches, and on one sat a man who seemed to consider 
himself a person of importance. Eveiy movement and even his 
attitude when sitting still, might be said to accord with a con- 
viction that he. Rabbi Isaac Ben Nassur, was the wisest, the most 
learned man in Cana. He was very tall, as well as bi-oad and 
heavy, and his thick gray beard came down to the voluminous sash 
that was folded around his waist. His eye brows were black and 
projecting, his nose was prominent, his black eyes piercing. He was 
dressed as became a Rabbi, or any other highly respectable Jew, in 
a long linen tunic with sleeves that were belted by the sash. Over 
this he wore a long, loosely flowing robe called an abba, also of 
linen. Around his shoulders, with the ends falling in front, was a 



.ks in his name. 



broad, white woolen scarf, with narrow bars of rod and piirjilo aiid 
blue, and witJi the blue tassels at tlic c-ornci-s of each of llic two tii(l>. 
This was the '"tallith," and Mas worn as a reminder lliat I lie wearer 
must remember all the commandments of the law aiul faithfully 
perform them. 

Close to Jerusalem. alnu)st one of its suburbs, was tiie little 
town of Bethany, \\liere .lesus lested before entirinii into the Holy 
City. But though so near to Jerusalem, Bethany was yet a (juiet 
spot, owing to its retired position on the eastern side of Mount Olivet. 
In this mountain village from which could b? seen on one side the 
valley (if the Jordan terminating in the Dead Sea, and on tlie 
other the mountains of Moab. about twenty-five miles distant. Our 
Lord spent some restful and happy hours with the little family. 
Martha, Mary and their brother Lazarus. Tiaditiou tells us that 
Martha was the wife or widow of Simon, the 1i'])(t, and thai 
Lazarus was the gentle and holy rabbi of that nanu' that is spoken 
of in the Talmund. However this may be, it is evident that the 
little family held a good social position iu the town, and wire far 
above want. How it was tlvat our Lord came to be a guest in this 
family, whether they had been among those who listened to Hi 
teachings in Jerusalem, or whether ^Martha had ottered Him her 
hospitality through some of the Seventy, who had been sent forth 
to announce His coming, we are not told, liui tliat he was a wel- 
come as well as an honored guest we cannot doul)t. How be.sl to do 
Him honor seems to have been the thought of both sisters when 
on the eve of the Feast of the ]3edication the Master came to 
them for a passing visit and in one or two of St. Luke's graphic 
touches the difference in their characters is clearly dejiicted. Martha, 
the eager, practical, warm-hearted hostess, could not do (>nough 
for the entertainment of siu'ii a gnesl. and hastened about with ex- 
cited energy, absorbed in jireparations for His material comfort, 
Mary, too, was anxious to show their gracious Fi-iend all honor, 
but her homage was shown in a different way. Knowing tha. 
Martha well able and well pleased to do all that was required for 
the comfort of their great visitor, and with a heart stirred to new 
life, realizing that never before had any one spoken such blessea 
words, Mary "sat at the Lord's feet and heard His word.'' As 
the time passed and still she sat- there, seemingly idle, a little 
feeling of jealousy and annoyance which was unworthy of her really 
noble nat\ire, stirred Martha's heart. Instead of speaking the word 
which would have brought INIary to her assistance at once, Martha, 
with what seems almost like irreverence hurried into the presence 
of Jesus to lodge a compliant against Mary. 'Tjord," she said, "dost 



IN HIS NAME. r,!) 

Ihou nut care that my sister has left me to do nil tlie work aloiu'r 
If Thou bid her do so she will help me."' But the Lord's clear vision 
saw all the love and faith ^hat underlay the sharp bustling manner, 
and His reproof was so gentle, in tone so tender, that while con- 
veying a lesson to Martha, it did not humiliate or grieve the heart 
which was so full of adection for Him. "Martlui, Martha," said the 
Master, "Thou art careful and troubled alxuit many things. JJut 
one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part which 
shall not be taken from her." 

'i\. tlie great majority of the Christian world the vast mass of 
h'geuds, documents, narratives and other matters pertaining to the 
early church and its happenings in the Holy Land, appear absolute- 
ly unknown. About a year ago an inscription in Doric Greek dating 
from tlie lifth century, it is alleged, was discovered in llie ruins of 
the palace at Ephesus, in Asia Minor, the seat of one of tlie seven 
churches in Asia. 'J'hat the inscription would be in (Jreek, was nat- 
ural, for Ephesus was a Greek city. It is said that Jesus used the 
Aramean language, and that King Abgar, the Syriac or perhaps 
Aramean, who was King of Edessa. It is said that King Abgar 
Ukkama, chief of the country, wrote a letter to Jesus, and sent 
it to Him by the hand of Hananias, the Tabularius, to Jerusalem. 
It is said that Edessa became one of the centers of Syrian Christian- 
ity. Edessa was the cai)ital of Osrone, a little district or kingdom 
in northwestern Mesojxitamia. The city which now stands on its 
cile is called \'ifa. In l;57 B. C. it became an independent king- 
dom. Its kings bore the name or title of Abgar, which means the 
mighty. There were eleven Abgars in all. Edessa was sacked 
by Trujan, because of the conduct of its rulers in the wars of the 
Romans against the Parthians and Armenians. In A. D. 216 it was 
made a Eomau military colony. It was famous as a center of 
Christianity, had great schools of theology and over 300 monasteries. 
It is said that when King; Abgar was inflicted with an incurable 
disease, that, hearing of Pesus, wrote Him, and Thaddeus, one of 
the Se-venty, was sent to King Abgar, and through him Christianity 
was established in Edessa. It is stated distinctly that Jesus left 
no written documents or letters. By St. Augustine and St. Jerome, 
and Pope Galasius, together with the Roman synod of A. D. 495. 
The fifth of the eleven Abgars is the Abgar Ukkama of the legend, 
according to Rabbi Gottheil. Bui he reigned from R. C. 4 to A. D. 
7, eleven years. Jesus was but a boy when he died, and had not 
yet entered upon His ministry. And Christianity was not the 
dominant religion in Edessa until the reign of Abgar IX, who 
reigned from A. D. 17!> to A. D. 214. The original religion of 



1 



60 IN HIS NAME. 



tclessa -was Sabaism, more particularly the worship of the goddess 
Atargatis. They worshij) the heavenly bodies as well as sacred 
fish, the symbol of the goddess, and the ponds still exist wherein 
these fish were kept. The Mohammedans all venerate these ponds 
which they believe to have been built by Abraham, and this ac- 
counts for their preservation. Now the coins of Edessa, previous 
to the reign of Abgar IX, all bear figures of the moon and stars, 
referring to the pagan worshiij; but his coins bear Christian symbols. 
It is a matter of history that in A. D. 202 Abgar IX visited Rome, 
and that this led to his embracing Christianity. Of Edessa it is 
said, "The city shall be blessed, and no enemy shall again become 
master of it forever," is as stated by legend, and on one occasion 
when Edessa was besieged by the Persians, a thick darkness covered 
the place and the Persians fled. In A. D. 502 the Persians again 
beseiged the city; but although the gates were all standing open 
the Persians were unable to enter. It was believed on account of the 
inscription bringing them miraculous aid, and as an amulet to pro- 
tect persons from danger. There is historic, if not potent evidence 
of this fact from Egypt and elsewhere, according to Rabbi Gottheii. 
i'robably the inscription on the jmlace at Ephesus was cut with a 
similar infeiit to guard the royal family from harm. And, after all, 
that is the grandest and noblest style of religion in its sincerity and 
truthfulness of character which required through a Father's dis- 
cipline, shall ever rise superior to adversaries and adversities, and 
gather its laurels from the mount of eternal peacefulness and rest. 
i<ew of us in this transitory life get over seeking and expecting to 
find the rainbow, and the mine of gold, or wiien their imaginary 
ship comes to port, rather let us now as we hear the voice that 
spoke by the Red Sea to Moses, with its imperative "Go forward." 
There may be hindrances and hard places before us, but he who 
has been our strength in the past will not desert us in our time of 
need. We have it in our j'o^ver in some even small manifestations 
or to some great extent, to make life happy to others as well as 
ourselves, and while it does -not appear as yet what we shall be, now 
are we not the sons and daughters of the Most High? Let us 
go forward bravely in the battle of life, showing bright, brave 
faces to the world and circumstance, devoted to the welfare of the 
fatherless, the orphan and the widow, and keeping unspotted from 
the world. May we not seek exclusively our own good, but that of 
our neighbor also, and thus in blessing and making others comfort- 
able and happy, we shall also enhance our own happiness and se- 
cure to ourselves the approval and blessing of God. Our life of 
existence is not to be one of bonbons and chocolate cream, but one of 



IN HIS NAME. (il 



usefulness and industry, combined with cleanliness and neatness. 
It is wiser to joy in the beauty of the roses which open each morn, 
tnan to pass them by unheeding for fear of the prick of the thorn. 
It is wiser to count our mercies, the blessing which strew our 
way, than to languidly ponder the troubles we stumbie upon each 
day, rather looking at the sunshine that gladdens the sky overhead; 
and if so sorrow must meet us, and tears may oft times fall, yet 
ever will bo this comfort, "His mercy is over all," and if we only 
wily count our mercies, we"ll find that they far outweigh the 
thorns, the shadows, the troubles, were happened and intended for 
us to meet each day — these light afflictions which will work out for 
us, if we endure unto the end, a far more exceeding weight of glory, 
for God docs not say to the seed of Jacob, "Seek ye my face in vain,' 
and there was never a commandment but liad a promise connected 
with it. May we say with the Psalmist, "Lord, I have hoped in Thy 
salvation, and have done Thy commanclments." God is faithful and 
justification for our sins. "If from thence thou seek tlie Lord thy 
God, thou shalt find Him." Some, mayhaps, are far from their earth- 
ly home, and have no relative or even friend in their dying moments 
to speak a word of comfort but Jesus; Jesus, He is bending near, 
lovingly and with out-stretched arms of love, of sweetest truthfulness 
and perfect purity. Wlien Jonah was compassed about by the floods; 
when the billows and waves passed over him, he prayed to the 
Lord, and the Lord heard him. To Him let His children come, for 
He hath said they\may. His bosom shall be their everlasting, for all- 
time home; their tears He'll wipe away. For all who earnestly and 
heart-whole seek his face shall surely taste His love. Jesus will 
guide them by His grace to dwell with Him above. True religion 
must not come from merely theory, or educational advantages, or ap- 
prehension of fear of future punishment and the judgment, or to be 
rid of troubles and difficulties strewn in our life's pathway, but 
rather from love to God. Though some may doubtless feel the 
natural love of life, yet never heard to express the smallest degree 
of impatience, rather calm and composed as their prospects of being 
restored to their friends decline hal:)itual resignation united with 
serenity and composure, triumphal over death and the tomb's vic- 
tory, and can say with the Shunaniite, "It it well." These are they 
which come out of great tribulation and have washed their robes 
in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne 
of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple, and He that 
sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hun- 
ger no' more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light 
on them,, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the 



G2 IN HIS NAME. 



throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living foun- 
tains of waters: and G!od shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
Is our Christian life in accordance with true, whole Christianity? 
Would a stranger visiting us, recognize us as a Chrislian family? 
Is the sound of family prayer ever heard in our home? Is the con- 
versation as beconu'th the (jlosj)el of Christ — such that make it 
evident that higli Christian principles animate us as a family? 
Does self-sacriticing servici' appear so that all nuiy see that tlie 
model of our family life is Christ? Do we remember tiu' table 
blessing? Pause, even the animals nu^nifest in their soulless 
numifestations, their gratefulness and thankfulness to God. How 
good. He is the Giver. We would see Jesus, we would have Him 
with us, a Guest beloved and honored at our board. How bless- 
ed were our bread if it were broken before the sacred presence of 
our Lord. Is our Cliristian life a proof for our children and 
servants of reality of tlu' Christian's profession? Is it so calcu- 
lated as to make them desire it? What cpuilities of the Christian 
character do A\e see them striving after by reason of our example? 
If \\(' see no prodvict of our Christian life among them, is there 
not some doubt whether we actually have that life, that way, 
which is to be like leaven — leavening all that it toucheth? Can any 
amount of woik for Christ outside of our imnu'diate family bo 
a substitute for neglect of our children and servants? Which do 
we care most for — to be an earnest Christian, Christ-like life, or to 
succeed in the world at the cost of our never dying souls? Do we 
serve the world, or do we nuake the world serve our spiritual life? 
Is there any Christian duty we 'neglect f(U' tlie world? J)oes the 
late hour of fatigue from worldly enjoyment keep us from the 
worship of God's house? "God loveth the gates of Zion better 
than all the dwellings of Jacob." Does worldly enjoyment pre- 
vent and interfere with our private devotions? If all Cliristians 
were like me, what would be the repute of Christianity in the 
world? \A^at do we from the heart mean that we will renounce 
the world so as not to follow or be led by it? What worldly 
thing, or does any whatever, impede our religious life; we are or 
have renounced joyfully for Christ's sake? If thou should'st go 
they way, and for earth's fame and merchandise. His great com- 
mands despise, beware, lest He in His royal wrath He swears, that 
thou shalt ne'er partake of His sacred marriage feast fare, and 
that He seek for guests who will not say Him nay. Some will 
say, "if you are not in the fashion, might as well not be in the 
world."' Don't be too fashionable; the fashion of this world 
perisheth. There is a woi'ld yet to come, where the imperishable 



IN HIS NAJNIE. 63 



robe of spotless white of riohteousnesa ever remaineth. In the 
days of the prophets liow simple their costume of cloak, tunic and 
sash and girdle; their minds were )nore stationary upon the God 
of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, tlie dlod of Israel, and how self- 
sacrificing tlicy were; proof — for instance. Abraliam offering up 
his well-pleased, great loved son, Isaac; and Jephtliah, the Gil- 
eadite, his only child, so precious to his life being; and in the New 
Testament liow our Heavenly Father offered up His only well- 
beloved Son for our redemption and salvation. The words for us 
are ''watch and pray. What I say unto you, I say unto a I", 
watch." Remember the parable of the virgins; the wise did not 
forget to have their loins girded and their lights burning. The 
lights are the vivifying and illuminating S])irit of God. That Spirit 
in all fulness incomprehensible in glory. Christ as the anointed 
One. The Church is the oil in the lamp in its forms, and that 
Spirit, the things He lived for, died for and cares for, and distin- 
guishes the readv from the unreadv. 



MAY I GO TO THE BALL? 

"Vexata Quaestio." 

Many, discussions and arguments have been expressed and con- 
tested in reference to dancing. As a. form of social recreation it 
may be by the real professor of Christianity, properly termed 
fashionable folly. Enjoyments are necessitously happy, pleasant 
and desirable when they are of an innocent, sinless nature so as not 
to harm us. Carnal pleasures, like bubbles, float on the surface. 
The pulse beats thick and slow — life's brief taper burneth low. Per- 
sonal sacrifice is to be lauded and modeled, but worldly pleasures 
are similar to atmospheric air — the higher we ascend the lighter 
they become; and they who participate in it at last imbibe the 
concealed bitterness of its fruits The little span of existence allot- 
ted to us is of too limited duration even at its utmost lengths to 
be wasted in any kind of trifling pastime — foibles of the worldling. 
Is dancing a Christian grace? May we dance and yet be a Chris- 
tian? The safest standpoint would be to abstain from it altogether, 
then if it may not be right we have not indulged in it and have 
lost nothing. The Christian does not desire to take advantage of 
the pleasure-seeker, in the argument; he only presents his own 
solid reasoning and opinion. We all have given us two masters to 
choose our preference from — the blessed Jesus, and the evil one. 



04 IN HIS NAME. 



aild we will be rewarded or condemned at the judgment seat of 
Christ as our choice of decision has been made; then if dancing 
performances are harmless, the followers of it are innocent from its 
effects — if a sin, then punishment^ will be rendered accordingly, 
and it is probable that the converted who have still mingled in 
its allurements, will receive severer retributioji than the non-pro- 
fessor for disobedience, broken vows and unfaithful promises to 
their heavenly Father. Does sin give you any pleasure? Does it do 
any good towards contributing to other's happiness? Dancing is 
frequently spoken of and referred to as a mutiuil pleasure, giving 
and receiving. Is it a sovereign remedy? Is it a concert of heaven- 
ly feelings and pure actions in which the mind is exhilerated on 
divine themes, and a mutual good will for eternity iiroduced? Even 
if we feel that though it might not be altogether in a whole sense 
evil, can we from our souls admit that it is good? Can we pray 
with the same equivalent warmth of fervency as the Godly-fearing 
Christian, after we return from an evening spent in dancing? You 
may say that God hears prayer, but does He accept all? Does He 
answer those who do not obey Him? If we indeed genuinely love 
Him we will not disobey Him, and will gladly sacrifice any worldly 
pleasure for those of never ending security at his right hand and 
for His sake, and thereby receive His smile rather than his frown. 
The worldling asks, if there is sin in dancing tell me wherein it 
lies? We cannot always work and read; both mind and body would 
become wearied. When we seek rest after weariness we can then 
have time for meditation and self-examination, and thus profitably 
for a good end and purpose employ God's precious time bestowed 
on Him for His glory and the advancement of His kingdom. The 
worldling also admits that we are in a natural world, where pleas- 
ures and pains effect us in the natural degree most sensibly, and 
we must come down that me may go up, letting our natural joys 
have free course carnally, so that they may be changed into a 
joy that is higher or more spiritual and requires the debater to 
negative or affirm the logical ti'uth substance. All things in their 
originality are good that are filled with the fruits of the Holy 
Spirit of God. Now Avhat are the spiritual fruits we derive from 
dancing? Can we enumerate one? If so, what is it? Is it not 
like the barren fig tree, void of lasiting blessings, and leaving in the 
end the heart depressed after its intoxications of butterfly, fairy- 
land visions and mocking dreams of enchantment are o'er? Is the 
real Christian to come down to folly that he may go up to right- 
eousness? Is he to lower himself downwards to earth, that he 
may higher ascend to the paradise of heaven? Did not Nehemiah 



IN HIS NAME. ■ 65 



of old say, "I am engaged in a good work, and I cannot come 
down"? Should not every true child of God say the same? Ascen- 
sion is the (Christian's glory; descension his destruction, final ruin 
and eternal death? How can religion and dancing have an affinity? 
What a gulf of contrast lies between them, thus separating one 
from the other. Have good and evil any affinity? Evil defined 
is a purpose to do WTong, and could we dance with good purpose, 
when we halt within the opinion that it may be evil? The most 
secure fortress would be when observing a group of merry dancers 
to not step over the threshold. Principio obsta. Perhaps an in- 
visible thorn is stamped on every smiling brow therein, which may 
manifest itself in future years in heartfelt agony and despair. Out- 
ward beauty is not always inward happiness. The rose is beautiful, 
but it is surrounded with thorns; so is this world we live in. Elite 
society makes no difference as regards sin, which bears its native 
classification— death and perdition. The distinguished, the million- 
aire and the nobody, who commit and follow in its slippery paths, 
are equally punished. God makes no distinction; they only who 
work righteousness being accepted in His sight — not those that 
lead themselves and others afar from Him, until their souls dwell 
in the dark abodes of Satan. Therefore, beware what you make 
idols of, and how you grasp the fatal pleasures of a few short 
summer days. The modern dancer wanders away to his discredit, 
rather than godliness. He may not intend it for an evil, but simply 
his self -long giatification which he desires to enjoy at all hazards. 
He does not mean to do harm to his soul, and tries to banish any en- 
tertained idea that lurks within, prompting him to forsake all evil 
and cleave only unto that whicli is good; and before he is aware he 
is far off spiritually from his church and Christian associations, and 
is found mingling with the careless, unconcerned and dissipated of 
the beau-monde. Christians should carry so much of the suavity 
and purity of Christ, as not to lose Character in any manifestation — 
tried, tested and established. They never re-crucify their Lord and 
Master, who loves them as a fond mother loves her absent child, 
whom she in truth, hope and faith idealizes. His power worketh 
through mortal life with a suaviter in mode will, that both re- 
deemeth and ennobleth. God created us for His glory. The power 
of creation He has retained. It is sacred and Incommunicable, 
and His glory will He not give to another. What are earthly joys 
in reality? Is it not the seeker after pleasure, in the broad run, 
brought home to God's temple and the fellowship of His people? 
Great should b'e the joy of the Christian over the ungodly one 
gathered into the fold, and over all missions and church prosperity. 



66 IN HIS NAME. 



For Christ's professors to add to the number in a ball room is east- 
ing a reproach on their Saviour's name,and the giddy, mayhaps, 
later censure them for the wrong example they set for them to 
follow. Are they the shining marks of unrighteousness? What 
are heavenly joys in reality? Are they not the tender sympathies 
of holy angels, with the work of our Lord? He came in great love 
to a fallen race, and gave at last His precious life as a bequest and 
every redeemed and saved soul brought to Him in heaven gladdens 
the heart of the angels. What a triumphant chorus of song is 
chanted in the highest as each saved one enters into eternal joys 
jjrepared for them by the Father. Who has done so much for 
our salvation because our souls are so infinitely valuable to Himself? 
"Many are called but few are chosenp" is a solemn reflection for 
meditation. The Christian dancer may have been called; but by 
disobedience to his Master's requirements is he chosen by God? 
He decides by one self-denial, love and the godly life we lead for 
Him, if we are worthy to be chosen as an heir of His kingdom. 
"Blessed are they that fear the Lord and walk in His ways." Such 
honor have all His saints. It is an error to mistake the outward 
husk for the living spirit, if we anticipate inexpressible blessings. 
We must be content with what He requires, and be happy in His 
will. Then by and by we'll gather thornless roses tha<t never pale, 
from a fairer and sweeter garden, where the angels open the pearl- 
gate and close us in with the blest. The undercurrent, the modern 
dance, swings the professional Christian slowly but surely from a 
spiritual life. No apprehensive sensation may be realized until 
too late, and the hidden rent is invisible. The under currents of this 
world do not point towards a holy living, but in opposite direction. 
How needless and with what worry, time and wasted expenditure 
is attached to a preparation for a ball, making absolute slaves 
to fashion, regardless of health or sacrifice. The cares of business 
or domestic affairs are light compared with the demands of the 
ball season's social round. And what comes of it all? How much 
substantial comfort and real eternal happiness is desired? Does any 
result from its bearing? Possibly some prickly thorns of vexation 
and disappointment. To sum up the total — the decision arrived at 
confirms the belief that dancing and its consequences attending are 
injurious rather than profitable to the interests of the soul, which 
to be acceptable in the sight of its Maker, must possess the attri- 
butes of immortality. What is called in these days being in gay 
society is a condition of servitude not worthy of sacrificing eternity 
for. It may drown many in self-remorse, if not the loss of their 
heritage. How much rather to have chosen that good part which shall 



IN HIS NAME. 67 



nob be taken away. And for our companionship the communion of 
saints, whose well-done life secures an everlasting inheritance and 
the society of the blessed Redeemer of mankind, who saith, "If any 
serve Me, let him follow Ale, and where I am, there shall also My 
servant be. If any man serve Me, him will My Father honor." 
The true Christian is a semblance of the faithfulness, goodness and 
power of God. Then how can any who have professed Christ delight 
to mingle with non-professors? Could their souls be stayed on Him? 
What have such to hold them up when the storms of adversary 
tempestuously assault them? God our Father sees the anchor of 
trust and faith down in the secret depths of His follower's soul. 
It is fastened securely to Omnipotence," which floats high above the 
rocks of temptation, and all life's trial tempest shall sweep earth, 
sea and sky, and when the fury is overpast, they are safely rest- 
ing, piloted by the Holy Spirit and anchored to Jesus Christ. 



ALICE. 
A. L. 

Sing a song of Alice, 

Playful as Ben Bolt;, 
Coy and cute and cunning. 

Sunshine of the house; 
Pure and sweet and pretty. 

Spotless as a dove; 
Come to us from heaven. 

Angel gift to love. 

Sing a song of Alice, 

Laughing in her glee ; 
At the window sitting. 

Watching there for me. 
While the dimples playing 

Over features fair. 
Pearl, her face with beauty, 

Kissing golden hair. 

Sing a song of Alice, 
Playing in the hall; 

While she waits for papa, 
Eager for his call; 



U8 TX HIS NAME. 

When the door is opened, i 

Running to his arms, 
For a score of kisses, 

Brightening her charms. 

Sing a song of Alice, 

Blithsome pet, so childish. 
Darling of the household, 

A wee queen herself. 
How we love the fairy. 

Winsome, true and gay; 
She brings us life's pleasures, 

Happy all the live-long day. 

Mamma's baby girl. What a lovely little fairy she was. Her 
dainty head was covered with bright golden curls like imprisoned 
sunbeams, and dreamy blue eyes filled with a wistful longing that 
struck a chord of sympathy in the observer's heart, reminding one 
of a bird, more than anything else. When she sang it was like 
listening to the soft low notes of the charming sweet canary. The 
fair child was singularly religious, and a very happy domestic gift. 
When the treasure was gone for the time being, one would feel as 
though half their life had gone with her, the little dear one. Like 
the sinless soul of the cherub child that expires in its mother's arms, 
wings its way to heaven unconscious of the joy it might share here, 
as well as the many storm trials of which it might be calledto share 
— too pure for earthly stay, to make one of that bright hand of 
cherubimes which encompasses in glory and in joy the throne of 
the living God. 



MAY. 

"Charming May has passed away, leaving Pluvius In charge, 
Now, gentle June, let the roses out of their winter headquarters. 

Charming May hath come and found us, 

The hue that steeps the heavens is soft and blue; • 

The dew is bright, the birds are gay, 

Earth with all its sadness, seems a happy place today. 

It seemeth but a day 

Since the summer flowers were here; 



IN HIS NAME. 69 



Since they stacked the balmy clover, 
Since they reaped the golden ear. 

Oh, how rich with rarest beauty, 
Is this summer world of ours; 

When the virgin Spring comes blushing, 
Like a bride arrayed in flowers. 

When the wanton warblers waken. 

Merry melody that seems 
Like the gentle joyous music, 

Wafted from the land of dreams. 

Sunny days pass soon forever. 
So the years they come and go; 

Onward ever — each happy new one, ' 
Flies swifter than the last. 

How fair the lily grows. 
And how soon it must decay; 

The rose and buds and blossoms. 
Must shortly pass away. 

Thou of life and light, the Spring, 
Songs of praise to God it sings; 

And as the blossoms deck the May, 
So every tender wish be thine. 

Oh, who would guess that skies so cold. 
Hold in their cloaks of gray, 

The perfect blue and radiant gold 
Of Spring's delicious May. 



LULLABY. 
Our Darling Hannah, an only Daughter. 

Hannah N. Lawrence S. 

What is this world's delight? lightening that mocks the night — 
brief even as bright. 

Sweet my mamm'a's voice is ever to my ear; ever soft it seems to 
me — tell my precious darling mamma loves thee well. 



70 IN HIS NAME. 



Love me, mamma? Yes, I know 
None can love so well as thou; 
Was it not upon thy breast 
1 was taught to sleep and rest. 

Did'st not thou in hours of pain, 
Lullaby my head to ease again, 
Witli the music of thy sweet voice. 
Bid my little heart rejoice? 

Ever gentle, meek and mild, 
Thou did'st lullaby thy child. 
Teach my tiny feet that way, 
Leading on to heaven and God. 

What returns to Jesus can I, mamma, make? 
My fond little heart, sweet Jesus, take; 
Thine it is in word and deed and act and thought, 
Thin^ by constant kindness bought. 



A LULLABY. 

Our Darling Hannah's Dream. 

H. N. L. S., an only daughter. 

Slug me softly to sleep, dear mamma, for I dreamed a dream 

I long to dream again. 
I fancied I roamed in a woods, mamma, and rested as under a bough, 

Then near me a butterfly flaunted in pride, 
And 1 chased it away through the forest wide; 

And the night came on and 
1 lost my guide, and loudly called for thee. 

Soon a white-robed maiden appeared in the air, and she 

Tossed back the waves of hfer beiiutiful hair; 
She took my hand gently, ere I was aware, saying, 

"Come, pretty child, with me." 
My tears and fears she calmed, mamma, and she 

Led me far away. 
We entered through a long, long vault of gloom. 

Then passed out into a land of gloom, 
And a fair blue sky of endless day. 



IN HIS NAME. 71 



Holy forms were there, mamma, and lioly cherubs bright, 

They smiled when they saw me, 
But I was amazed, and wandering around — 

I rapturously gazed and gazed. 
And heavenly music I heard, and sunbeams blazed. 

All glorious in the land of light. 

Do you remember that poor old man, mamma, who 

Came so late to our door? 
And he told how he went to the Baron's stronghold, saying 

"Oh, let me in, the night is so cold." 
But the rich man cried, "Go sleep in the woods, 

We shield no beggars here." 

Well, he was in that glorious band, mamma, as 

Happy as happy could be. 
He needed no alms in those mansions of light, for he sat 

With the patriarchs clothed in white. 
And there was none that had a crown more bright. 

Or a costlier robe than he. 

Now, sing me softly to sleep, mamma, for I long to dream 

As I dreamed before; 
Sound was my slumber, and sweet my rest, 

While my spirit in the kingdom of life was a guest; 
The heart that has throbbed in the realms of the blest, 

Can love this world no more. 



AT HIS DOOR. 
"Tis I, Father, only I. 

I thought myself indeed secure. 
So fast the door, so firm the lock; 

When lo, the toddling comes to lure 
My parental ear with timorous knock. 

My heart as cold, could it withstand, 
The sweetness of my fairy's plea; 

That timorous child-knocking, and 
"Please let me in, it's only me." 



72 IN HIS NAME. 



1 threw aside the unfinished book, 
Regardless of its teini)ting eharms; 

And opening wide the door 1 iook 
My darling rosebud in my arms. 

Who knows but in eternity, 

I like a truant ehild shall wait, 

The glories of a life to be, 

Beyond our heavenly Father's gate. 

And will our heavenly Fatlier heed 
The tnuuit's supplieatiug ery. 

As at His door I plead, 

"'Tis I, O Father! only I." 



GOOD NIGHT. 



One sweet, previous heart of love awaits me in Heaven, and 
when at last I reaeh that blissful shore, how beautiful will the 
greetings be. Sueh will our nu'eting be, so full of joy and such our 
meeting, too, oil that bright shore. We have companioned together 
upon the earth ami shared for many years, but still in sweet com- 
munion we are one. No distance of unmeasured space, no time as 
years and months and days are calendered in our chronology can 
always separate us by the narrow stream of death, but redeemed 
and marching onward into endless life of victory, as conquerors 
from the battle. 

The sands of life they drop, full soon, 

The glass will empty be; 
Dawn creeps slowly into noon, 

The evening comes to thee. 

And yet it matters nothing now, 

Peace broodeth as a dove; 
Cod has been very kind to thee, to me, 

Good-night, good-night, my love. 

True, dark to me seems many a day, 

And long the dreary night: 
But God has blessed me all the way, 

And granted pure delight. 



IN HIS NAME. 73 



So many that are endeared to me 

Are waiting just above — 
Their beckoninf,^ hand I ahnost see, 

Good-night, good-niglit, my love. , 

Hold me not back, "tis better so; 

Ah, languid are my feet ; 
My hands are tired, let me go, 

Rest, darling, will be sweet. 

The pastures arc; so green and fair, 

The waters still and bright; 
And love is there, for Christ is there, 

Uood-night, good-night, my love. 

Round the altar the redeemed confess, 

If these robes are white as snow, 
'Twas our Saviour's righteousness. 

Our Jesus' blood that made them so. 

Kings their crowns for harps resign. 

Crying as they strike the chords, 
"Take the kingdom, it is Thine, 

King of kings and J^ord of Lords." 

Lisiten to the wondrous song 

Which they chant in hymns of joy; 
"Glory in the highest, glory; glory be to God most high. 

Good-night, good-night, my love. 



REAL "WORTH. 



No loud praises do I bring, 

No strain of fulsome compliment; 

The language of the heart. 
When simple, is most elo(juent. 

But I will breatlie the earnest prayer, 

That God may guard and guide our ways; 

May love go with us hand in hand, 
And happiness crown our days. 



74 IN HIS NAME. 

The virtuous will never lack for love, 
Even in this, our giddy world; 

And every heart will bow before 
The queenliness of real worth. 



T^WO ANTIQUE RUO-S. 

Two rugs of matchless make and weave, 
Both antique with age and wear, 

Rest side by side, and both receive 
Their share of praise and care. 

They are treasured more as they grow old, 

Time mellows and subdues 
The colors bright, as frosts and cold. 

Enrich the autumn hues. 

One represents the artist-skill. 

In texture and design; 
Once priest and prince upon it knelt 

And worshiped at their shrine 

The other's but a braided, home-made mat, 

The skill you'd scarce admire; 
Yet memory brings the weaver back. 

Before the open fire, 

Where mother sat and plaited. 

Not Oriental hues, 
Nor threads so fine, but did combine 

The honest reds and blues. 

For beauty this one can't compare 

With the one across the sea : 
But it became a rug of prayer. 

The shrine, mv mothers knee. 



IN mS NAME. 75 



THE CHANCE BLOOM. 

"Like the flash of a wave's phosphorescence or a glint of an em- 
erald sheen. 

Lost chances. They come and go; we call them back in vain. 
Perhaps some other day ? Oh, no, they never come again. 
Like a dark shade they have o'er the diel passed. 
For, ah, the dew . is brushed from off the rose, 
And the chance bloom no second springtime Knows. 

In passing through life we may encounter difficulties in our 
pathway. After the naturals come ithe bars of flats and sharps 
to glide over. If the sea was always smooth the mariner could 
never test his skill, or if he failed to watch the tide, he loses the 
chance to cross the bar into the harbor. In our disappointments, 
fears and dismal cares and trials, our heavenly Father tells us 
that He will safely guide us wherein we are tossed on this billowy 
world, so the waves of despair shall not dash us on the rocks. 
He will gently lead us by the hand if we give Him the chance. 
God will pi-eserve us in body and soul. It is sad that many let 
their "chance bloom" of earth and heaven slip through like a 
little child does a handful of sand upon the seashore, until it is all 
gone. We should not permit discouragement to eclipse our cour- 
age, nor the clouds of disappointment to darken our path, but 
rather recall that the sky is blue ten times where It is black once. 
If we enumerate our blessings given to us by a kind divine Father, 
and our crosses, we will ascertain that the blessings preponderate 
in the scales, and even out of seven days in the week our Father 
in heaven only requires us to remember and reserve one of sacred 
rest, holy to Him. Although we may have many cloudy days, 
still far more sunny ones are tendered us. After the tears of the 
storm comes the bright colored arch of the rainbow. All may of 
Thee partake, nothing can be so small, but draws, when acted for 
j.ny sake, greatness and worth from Thee, and if we obey Thy lawt 
e'en servile labors shine with its hallowed toil and arduous work. 
Not despairingly, but •with perfect trust, come to thy God. He 
knows them that are His. Thou wilt cause Thine ear to hear. The 
Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in time of 
trouble. Have confidence in God. "The earth is the Lord's and the 
fulness thereof, the world and they that dwell therein." "The 
Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want." God can give us both 
earthly and heavenly bread — we have nothing to want for. 



76 IN HIS NAME. 



Ihoy that seek the Lord shall not want for any good thing. We 
need never despair or possess sad liearts, weary and distressed, but 
rather rejoice that we liave found the Messiah, and may our home 
blossom in gladness. And if the night hath been dark, joy cometh 
in the morning. Why then should wo doubt or fear? Our Father's 
hand will never cause His children a needless tear. God is our 
very present help, "From blush of morn to evening star." The 
flowery spring, at His command, perfumes the air and paints the 
land; while with vigor shine the summer rays to raise the corn and 
cheer the vine. In autumn Thy hand richly pours redundent 
stores througli all our coasts, and winters are softened by Thy 
fatherly care. The seasons are Thine at all times. We can trust 
God when the roses are blooming and the beautiful flowers, penciled 
by His hand, as well as when the icicles are pendant on our houses. 
Thou luist i)romised graciously to hear all those who cry to Thee, 
displaying Thy love and answering when Thy children pray. "If 
He were hungry He would not tell us, for the cattle on a thousand 
hills are His," but we must with humble heart and tongue come to 
Him and ask, "(Jive us tliis day oiir dail}-' bread." Ami Thy love 
wliich bore the greater load, will not refuse the less. In want. 
Thou art our plentiful supply, in weakness our Almighty Power, 
in bonds our perfect, liberty, our light in Satan's darkest hour. 
No troubles can our souls appal; Thou art our hidden source, of our 
life, our heaven, our all. Chances, like the tide, come, but do not 
wait, they pass and must be seized. They may come to us in 
times of sorrow, sickness, or in the midst of mirth, and in such 
a manner that it sefems we must decide at once or they will be 
forever lost — at a time when all eternity is depending upon the 
decision. 

"O quick, or eternity hides her sweet. 
'Tia opporunity." 

A chance lost can never be regained; lost knowledge may be pos- 
sessed again by more earnest and persevering diligence, and lost 
character may be renewed by repentance and sincere promised res- 
olutions to God, but a chance in its individuality, or self, comes but 
once; we accept and take it, or if we refuse, the chance to re- 
gain it is as the passing wind, or a vessel on a dark night, we 
hear or faintly see it for a moment, it passes and is gone. We 
cannot be too cautious to embrace that all important chance, which 
constitutes the eternal happiness of our future life beyond the 
grave, where the mortal shall put on immortality. Believing in. 
loving and following our blessed Jesus, is the principal one of all 



IN HIS NAME. 77 



chances, which if once irrecoverably lost can never be recovered, re- 
claimed or restored, any more than a lily that bears on its sweet 
white leaves a wound, by any art's necromantic can be restored 
to matchless Ijeauty. A lost chance for eternity is a solemn, in- 
deed, reflection for contemplation. Have you no words? Ah, 
think again. May our faculties let its powers be exercised where 
its loftiest flights can be productive only of benefit and enjoyment, 
namely, on the glories of the unseen world, and on the greatness 
of Him who is the Light thereof. The brightest dreams of fancy 
and imagination must fall far short of the reality of Him, and of 
His kingdom and the things that God hath prepared for them who 
love and obey Him. Those glorious sources of admiration and 
interest can never, like our earthly idols, change and fade to 
our view, or calling forth feelings of aversion instead of love, 
confidence and respect; but, while we meditate thereon, we shall 
feel our hearts animated to desire, and encouraged to hope, that 
through faith in the Redeemer we will at last be permitted 
to enter into those realms of glory where no change comes and 
where we shall behold the face of Him who is the same yesterday, 
today and forever. Is this a chance well worth not losing? If 
our present life happens to be cloudy, the sunshine of the future 
later on will burst through the mist, and joy and hap))Iness will 
reign supreme. A chance may at first seem a trifling affair, but 
by and by, when the opj)ortunity is gone, we will learn from our 
neglect to a2>ply it to our advantage or profit that we have lost 
a gem now beyond price and possession. Kind words spoken too 
late are in reality not spoken at all ; they are regretted oppor- 
tunities that can never restore life, and chances redeemed, the echo- 
less shore answers not our pleadings. Could we turn to a wither- 
ed rose and with a smile bid it rebloom? Could we snatch from 
sleep its repose, or divert the grim grave of its gloom? Silence, 
or an answer in the negative responds to our interrogatives; 
neither can we clasp again a chance once dead, even though we 
gave world's to purchase it, if we possessed them. Trust in 
God. Thy grace and blessing give, and let our souls on Thee be 
cast in never-ceasing prayer. Inspircr and hearer of prayer, may 
we taste salvation in Thy name and antedate our heaven, and 
build an altar by the tent where we have met with God. Alas! 
how many a gem has been rudely cast away, that might have 
formed their diadem in everlasting day. We ought not to slight 
the chances that our indulgent Father so kindly grves us, and 
let them one by one fall unheeded from our grasp, not valuing 



78 IN HIS NAME. 



the gift, or else desiring something still more superior, and then 
regretfully we seek it in vain in after years. The echo of our own 
heart dies away with the sigh — nevermore. A chance offered us 
may be a golden moment, which might decide the destiny of our 
life. If we do not seize it when it comes, it passes on beyond 
our reach and view, through the tide of the river of life onward 
it rolls by, gone forever. Lost chances are like the dead flowers 
that return to us never again. "For, ah, the dew Is brushed from 
o.. the rose, and tbe chance bloom no second springtime knows." 



WHERE SHALL I SPEND ETERNITY? 

This all solemn question comes to every one. Can you answer 
it? What scenes do eternity present? The years of life past, 
earthly connections dissolved, the secrets of all hearts laid open, 
souls saved or lost, Christ a welcome Saviour or a frowning Judge, 
/ill mistakes and errors in religion at an end, every false founda- 
tion undermined, a world in flames and consumed as though it 
had never been, time no more, eternal ages on ages rolling on 
in ceaseless bliss or misery. Oh, where then will my portion be, 
where shall I spend eternity? 

To think of summer still to come. 

That I am not to see; 

To think a flower might yet bloom. 

From dust that I shall be; 

Oh, where then will my portion be, 

Where shall I spend eternity? 

To think when heaven and earth are fled, 

And time and seasons o'er; 

When all that can die shall be dead. 

That I must die no more; 

Oh, where then will my portion be, 

Where shall I spend eternity? 



SOLVED. 



She has solved it, life's wonderful problem, 
The strangest, the deepest, the last; 

And into the school of the angels. 
With the answer forever has passed. 



IN HIS NAME. 79 



How strange Emma should sleep so profoundly, 
So young, so unworn by the strife; 

While beside her, brimful of Hope's nectar, 
Untouched, stood the goblet of life. 

'Tis idle to talk of the past or the future, 
And the rare might have been 'mid our tears; 

God knew all about it, yet took her 
Away from the oncoming years. 

So now in the darkness be thankful. 
One day we will say it is well; 

God took from her forehead earth's laurels. 
And crowned her with heaven's immortelles. 



JACOB'S LADER. 



"The clouds were all scattered, and the blue appears; 
All Nature's rejoicing, she has dried all her tears.' 

Who could bear a cloudless sky? 

Clear, unchanging blue ; 
No shading on the landscape, 

No bright and deep dark blue. 

How much of the beauty 
Lies in the shadows flitting; 

And to our feelings 

How much more befitting. 

Sunset's golden splendor, 

Morning's rosier light ; 
'Tis the clouds and vapors, 

Weave this rich delight. 

All life's lights and shadows 
Are like that little leaven; 

They are Jacob's ladders. 
Binding earth to heaven. 



so IN HIS NAME. 



MY ANGLE SISTER. 

Aged seven. 

F;»ri'\V('ll, my sister, love, farewell, 
'i"hy yoiuij; sweet voice is stilled; 
A plaee is vaeant in our hearts, 
Tlial never, never ean be filled. 

The years roll swiftly by on the wings of time, but the scene 
of my little sister's death remains indeliblj' stamped on my mem- 
ory, never io be forgotten. Upon a couch of pain and fever lies 
a darling child. ]niW and suttering; death's signet is stamped upon 
ier marble brow. To her earthly scenes were passing away, and 
another, a brighter world, wa.s opening to view. Yes, Emma was 
(.lying. A sweet, angel-like exi)ression rests for a moment upon 
iier beautiful face, and then all was over, the immortal spirit 
had forsaken its earthly tenement. Precious child, youthful soldier 
of Christ, faithful daughter and sister. And art thou gone? Is 
thy earthly mission so soon fulfilled? Yes, a Fathers merciful 
protection has been over thee. He has taught thee to lead 
others to the right waj", and now His precious love hath called 
thee home, even to the sacred rest of Paradise. Not in vain the 
sweet child's mission on earth, brief as a flower's uncertain bloom, 
for motherhood's self was born at her birth, and fatherhood grew 
by her cradle anil tomb. Forget-me-nots gleam o'er her tiny 
memory, and hope smiles clear through the rain of tears, and we 
thank our good God for the gift He gave, the angel-sister we 
shall meet in the brighter years. She came from God, the gift 
of His love to brighten our wintry day, but she wearied too soon 
for her honu> above, and with winter faded away. The crown 
was won without bearing the cross, the harbor entered without 
tempest and strife, the gain accomplished without struggle or 
loss, and rest attained without labor of life. Sweet child of bud- 
ding innocence, thou were too fair for earth. Wisely I deemed 
thee always as now, an angel in thy birth. Your soft little kiss- 
es and child-bright words, tender sister, have lit the chamber 
of my soul with transparent light, soothing fierce sorrow, helping 
me strive to win the goal. She was the embodiment of innocence, 
loveliness, beauty and sunshine. The pure, gentle memory and 
little deeds of the sweet, fair child linger immortal. Do I love 
thee? Ask the flowers if they love refreshing showers? "Suffer 
little children to come unto Me and forbid them not. for of such 



IN HIS NAME. 81 



is the kingdom of lieaven." Lovely young sister, summer sun- 
beam glancing light, a matchless gem, a radiant face, that thine 
to me local Is of beauty's pensive tenderness, so delicately traced 
with tile shining shadows of the sweet soft eyes; their life-like hue 
is now no Icjnger night, but gone thou art from earth, a bud so 
pure and fair, to unfold in heaven and bloom thy loveliness there. 
Gone, no more with us to live; our fond hearts arc breaking, darling- 
sister. What would we give for your blessed waking? Ah, we 
must not weep, she still will be our precious little Emma. 

Thy little life had perfect rest 

At its faint dying close; 

Not softer from her nest 

The early robin goes; 

Or fades the daylight in the w'est. 

Or folds the evening rose, 

Winging on pinions to an azure sky, 

Mating with the pure essences of heaven. 

A breath, a memory, 

Brief love and long regret; 

A lost delight forevcrmore, 

Sweet sistei', must thou be. 

Thy dying look I seem to see. 

As earth and heaven met; 

And thy chiid-Iovely face is still to me 

With summer rose-bud set. 

In life the lines she often repeated were, 

"Show me what I have to do. 
Every hour my strength renew ; 
Let me live a life of faith, 
Let me die Thy people's death." 

What an encouragement is this for the young to seek Christ. 
■'Of such is the kingdom of God," that is. His kingdom is com- 
posed of souls as innocent and pure as those of babes. The season 
of childhood is most fitting acquisition for religious principles; the 
impressions tben made upon the mind are generally durable, and 
are seldom or never totally effaced. Thus marks of childhood are 
well worthy of our imitation, for if we seek to be true Christians 
it is absolutely necessary that we become simple and' lowly- 



82 IN HIS NAME. 

iiiiiulcd. rin' youtlit'ul CliristiiUi will uiulcistaiul that tlie sincere 
follow IT" of lluist are ever ready to administer to eacli other's 
coiiipaiix. Were tliis rule universally borne in mind and acted 
upon, li<>\\ largely would the discord and misery now witnessed 
in I lie world lie abated. They who live the eliild-life in this 
period of mortality will m a spiritual existence live the C'hrist- 
lif<' of innuortality. Reader, (lod has <iiven yon a mission to do. 
will you. liUe our little l']mma perform it faithfully. 



JOINING THE CHURCH. 

A n'(iuest solemnly enjoined upon every creature. 

.V man was om-e asked. Are you a believer in the Christian re- 
lii^ion": ()h, reitainly. You are a nuMuber of some cTiurch. then, 1 
suiijioser Member of church'/ Xo, indeed, why should I be a 
member of church: it is quite certain the dying thief wasn't a 
member of chunh and he went to heaven. Of course you have 
been bajitized. yo\i know the comnuind? Been baptized, oh, no: 
that is anotlu'i- iuhhUcss ceremony. 1 am as safe as the dying 
thief and he ne\er was baptized. Surely then if you will not 
join a cluuih or be baptized, you will do something in acknowiedge- 
meut of your faith in some way of manifestation"? Xo, I will do 
nothing of the kind. Let nie remark before you go any further, 
there is a \ast ditference between you and the dying thief you re- 
fer to. If (u)d i-hose to perform His will in t*ie days of old. 
lie may not do the same in yovir career. If you have not accept- 
i'd I'luisi as your Saviour, is it not your duty to now confess 
llim before men and angels, and to join His church? ^lany ex- 
cuses you may present, for instance, "I am not worthy." "1 am 
not good enough." But the Bible reciuires not that we should, 
be good enough, but that we should believe — "Believe in the Lord 
•lesus Christ and thou shall be saved." And tlien in communion 
with Cod- people we will be in the best atmosphere to become 
better and elevate those who tread the downward path that leads 
to darkness and despair. It would be a great mistake for a rose- 
bud, growing in the middle of the road, to refuse to be planted in 
a flower-bed, because it might feel it was not worthy. The only 
hope of it becoming a beautiful plant lies in its being transplanted 
into the flower-bed. There are a great many i)ersons who believe 
in Christianity as a beautiful sentiment, but they don't believe 
in the ihuich. and we occasionallv hear those we chance to meet 



IX HIS NAME. 83 



express their opinion by saying that they respect religion in 
others, but that they, meaning themselves, are no professors of 
religion of any of Cod's visible churches, and adding that they 
could not keep the rules. Ah, that sounds terrible in a believer's 
ears. If the unconverted can not keep their heavenly Father's 
rules, could they then consider Him unjust if he refuses them life, 
breath, daily food and tokens of His kind providence. Should he 
care, watch over and provide for those who do not put their 
trust in HiniV Them that honor Me I will honor, saith the Lord, 
and they that despise Me, I will lightly esteem. It is a solemn 
thing to offend our heavenly- Father. By disobeying Him we make 
a false step, lose our footing on the rock of righteo\isness. and 
disappear over the precipice. Suppose there may be. perchance, 
numbers of inconsistent church members, that doe.s not apply to 
your case; we each have to give an account of ourselves to f!od 
for the deeds done in the body. Numbers are no lunrk that men 
of right are found: a few were saved in Noah's ;nk. and )naiiy 
millions drowned. The more we see wrong the more eager we 
ought to be to follow the right. Join the church of Christ and 
try and strive to make others, still unconverted, better. Be- 
cause we might find one town governing laws corruptly, is that 
any solid or logical reason why those more honest and hf)norable 
of another place should feel exemjit from the duties or citizenship, 
wherever they may be consigned or called? It woiild ratlier be bet- 
ter to make even a feeble or broken-winged eftort to\\;ir(U Imliness. 
than to stand on one side and lightly criticize church members who 
are trying to live the Christian life. It would be like the soldier 
who has shirked the battle, criticizing the torn uniform and 
broken armor and bleeding limbs of his comrade, who ef)mes ex- 
hausted out of the fight. There may be some inconsistent church 
members, but it is generally on investigation ascertained and under- 
stood that the majority of the best men and women in any com- 
munity are in the various churches. You may say, T am afiaid J 
will not hold out. Leave that with God; you certainly will not 
hold out if you begin by disobeying His simplest command, and 
walking in your own ways, instead of your Creator's, whom you 
are taught to renuMuber in the days of thj^ youtli, Your heavenly 
Father who hath begun a good work in you will perform it 
until the day of Jesus Christ; therefore rest all with Cnd. and 
give Him your never-dying soul and heart, and all shall lie well, 
both for this transitory life and for eternity. An old >ea cap- 
tain was riding in the cars, and a young man sat iTnwn tjy his 



84 IX HIS NAME. 



side. He said, Young man, where are you going? I am going to 
New York to live. Have you letters of introduction? Yes, replied 
the young man, and he pulled some of them oul of his pocket. 
^^'ell, continued the sea captain in inquiries, have you a church 
oertitloate? Oh, yes, but I did not suppose you desired to look 
at tliat. Yes, answered the old sea captain, I want to see that 
first. As soon as you reach New York present it to your Christian 
church. I am an old sailor, and I have been many years traveling 
to and fro around the world, and it is my rule as soon as I get into 
port to fasten my ship fore and aft to the wharf, although it may 
cost we a little wharfage, rather than have my ship out in the 
stream floating hither with the tide amid the storms and gales 
which might intervene and destroy all forever. In the two thieves 
who were crucified with God's only Son, we see the two-fold eifect 
of Christ's cross on the world, one continued mocking, only liard- 
ened by what ho beheld and perished close by the cross. The 
other was touched, became penitent and was saved. So it is 
today, there are two classes of people who look upon the cross: 
those who are moved to penitence and cry out in the prayer of 
faith for mercy; then there are others who are just as close, and 
see the same exhibitions of love, and hear the same divine ut- 
terance of grace, and yet are unconcerned and remain unalVected 
and go on in sin, growing more indifferent, more hardened, more 
hopeless in their impenitency. It is possible to perish in the very 
sight of the cross, to reject Christ while looking at Him on His 
cross. Mere privileges save none, it is only when the privileges 
ai-e approved that they prove blessings to us. After all, every- 
thing depends on our faith in God, no matter how dark the night 
about us, how lonely and deserted we may feel, we should never 
lose faith in our heavenly Father. Back of the thickest clouds 
His face ever beams \vith love. Let this anchor hold always. 
Christ died in vain for lis unless we believe for ourselves. If we 
belieAe then we are saved for time and through the boundless ages 
of everlasting happiness and eternal glory and dwell with our Loi-d 
Jesus Christ, who reieneth and sitteth at the riaht hand of God. 



IN HIS NAME. So 



WENT HOME. 

The moinory of the just is liU'sscd. Ulessed are the pure in heart. 
Llessed are the dead which die in the Lord, in the Jiope and joy 
of our Lord. 

Dutiful daughter, sweetest of sisters, peacemaker of the house- 
hold, the brightest, purest gem that ever clustered 'round our 
home's loved ones, the beloved child of our Jesus, whom she loved 
and served. The pearly gates were open; Jesus' gentle voice said 
"Come," and with farewells unspoken our sweet sister May calmly 
went home. O mourners, such the Lord declares, such are tlie 
children of our God. 

May ScliiefFelin Ingersoll. 

Oh, what has become of our young neighbor, 
In the great house across the way? 
A stillness stands resting o'er the portals, 
A shadow o'er the slate roof of gray. 

It was said that some were bearing a casket, 
That held their precious young sister so dear; 
The golden sun, in a shroud of glory enwrapped in a fold, 
Shed a glow like the living senjblance of truth lier virtuous now 
silent lips ever told. 

I'hey bore her gently over the river, 
To her kmdred home 'mid the silent tombs; 
And her spirit with awe-struck splendor, 
Was divested from all earthly gloom. 

From the vistas of watching and praying. 

Thou hast passed from" the mansions of earth to be 

An heir to the beautiful city of gold, 

in the mansions over life's sea. 

In token that thou shalt not fear Christ crucified to own. 

We painted the cross upon thee here, and stamped thee as His alone; 

In token that thou shalt not blush to glory in His name, 

We blazoned here upon thy forehead His glory and His shame. 

In token that thou too shalt tread the path He traveled by. 
Endure the cross, despise the shame, and sit thee down on high : 
Thus outwardly and visibly we seal thee for our Jesus' own. 
And now thy brow that wears His cross, hereafter shares His crown. 



86 IX HIS NAME. 



GOD'S JEWEL. 

■"Aiul they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day 
when I make up my jewels, and I will spare them as a man 
spareth his own son that serveth him." Mai. 3:17. 

Thou hast found a region more brightly to warble sweet music, 
but glad us no more. Of all that is near thou art tlie nearest, of 
ail that is dear thou art the dearest. Memorabilia in coelo quies 
in pace. Be thou an example of the believer in word, in con- 
versation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity. 

And that from a child thou hast known the holy scriptures, 
which are able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith 
which is in Christ Jesus. And the night of weeping .shall be the 
morn of .song, and at the blessed Jesus' feet, adoring fall. He 
hast lead thee, precious sweet sister, safe through all. 

Do I love thee? Ask the flowers if they love refreshing showers. 
f>he was all the world to me. Lovliest of lovely things are they 
that soonest pass away, and lives its little hour like the rose 
and lily, and prized beyond the sculptured flowers. 

It is New Year. A day generally welcomed in with sounds of 
rhiniing rejoii-ing and mirth. Such has been the case fi'om time 
iuimemoriam. The early morn dawned clear and cold; the frosty 
air painted the ears and faces of those who ventured out, and 
quickened their pace. The soft snow was over all, everything 
was edged with it, slowly it had been falling on the last day 
of the old year, and as each footstep passed into the delicate snow 
falls it caused the particles to separate like an angel-wing through 
an opening cloud is seen and then withdrawn. The sun rose 
throwing its amber light over all. It appeared like drapery hung in 
honor of the baby year. Happy Xew Year, exchanged the passers 
on the streets. Everybody seemed happy: sleigh-bells sounded mer- 
rily and joy reigned supreme. Suddenly a door opened and 
trembling fingers fastened to the door or bell a shadow, and then 
retii-ed. A bit of crape and white ribbon was left floating there: 
it fluttered and waved in the wind, and the snow flying about 
nestled in its folds. Y'es, it was a little shadow outside, but 
it told of a great shadow within as near as crape could tell. It is 
one of woe"s signals, but the depth of grief it cannot, does not 
express. One sweet life had gone to Jesus, one of God's follow- 
ers who had walked so closely to Him that heaven's gate shutting 
left her within its bulwark walls. Feet that had ceaselessly dis- 
charged tender errands of kindness and love : hands, the work 



IN HIS NAME. 87 



for Jesus those loving hands of integrity and sterling uprightness 
liaa done, and yet they were willing hands ever — never weary in 
well doing, and gone to»a glorious reward in Heaven where the 
angels ever sing Alleluia, they were folded now. Their labor' is 
over. God needeth those little hands in His kingdom of love. 
mat noble, generous young heart, so full of sympathy for others, 
always rejoicing with those that rejoiced and weeping with those 
who wept. Abounding with charity for all, so permeated with the 
spirit and love of Christ, and whose loveliness seemed almost 
supernatural in the soft moonlight in her sweet humility, loving 
trust and filial atTection as becoming a child. Yes, the heart 
is still, but the young life is breathed in another world. Those 
once ruby lips, gentle, virtuous, resolute, have uttered their young 
council and offered their suggestions for the last time. Hearts 
that mourn may be breaking over them now, but the thin lips, 
silent in death, smile on. Gracious and winning without knowing or 
intending it, simply because her meek, dutiful, mansuetude nature, so 
peaceful, could not listen otherwise. x\nd those lovely, soft, beau- 
tiful brown eyes, that look as if they had looked sorrow in the 
face. A nature that breathes . of answered prayer. A voice so 
sweet, mild and sympatlietic that one looks into the face of the 
amiable speaker to observe whether the voice appeals for or confers 
compassion. Her young life was over. Death touched her very 
gently, and she lay as if asleep with a sacred stillness of perfect 
peace and rest. She reposed within a white satin-lined casket. 
.....uen under white fragrant llowers. She was too much like 
heaven, a pure gold sister, and so God took her to Himself. She 
hath done what she could, and hath chosen the good part which 
sha.x never be taken away from her. Death loves a shining mark. 
A blessed darling .sister. While our sweet sister May with us 
stayed, could we have loved her more? If the spirits of the just 
made perfect is permitted the consciousness of earthly things, we 
may rest assured that her faitliful and true soul is now watching 
over that bereaved sister, who counts the long lioiirs in their 
shattered separation, there to await the resurrection morn. She 
was a whole Christian, crowned with love and honor and esteem 
in this transitory life, and with glory and immortality in the life 
beyond. She was rich in faith towards God, the fond sweet 
child here for a season, the all-abiding, cherished child of a 
King in glory. Mourner, be faithful to the end, and our dear 
Lord will grant thee a blessed reunion in the land of Joy and 
song. She is transplanted to bloom in angelic perfection in the 



88 IN HIS NAME. 



heavenlv garden above to bask forever in the sunsbine of Gods 
love. "1 love my heavenly Father's house, no more a wander- 
ing sheep, no more a wayward child. I love. I love my home.' 

Around her throng the loved ones, who before h,er passed to light. 
Whose graves made earth the loneliest and dimmed its giory bright ; 
Oh, the rapture of the greeting where death can never part. 
Oh. the sweetness of reunion of loving hand to hand and heart to 
heart. 

Our Father taketh her home where the bright angels stay, and 
the bereaved ones, siuviving, must wait in patience. He may 
perhaps have something for them to do to the advancement of His 
kingdom, and then the angels wiU come for them. The fair, pure 
sister spirit in heaven where the angels stay, will not let Him 
forget when their work on earth is all done, to let them come 
where she is. She was a lovely jewel, a precious gem of priceless 
value. Ajentle as a summer breeze, pleasant as the air of heaven, 
as it floats among the trees. Yet again we hope to meet thee, 
when the day of life is fled: then in heaven with joy to greet 
.^ee, where no farewell tear is shed. Blessed are they who hear 
the word of God and keep it. Of the surviving deeply bereaved 
unseparaoie sister, what shaU we say of her? The attached fond 
sister Illumed with a gold band devotion of unseparable, purest, ti" 
love. In death they were not divided: they almost breathed 
through each other's breath. Their hearts were buried in her sis- 
ter's tomb, — her lovely, beautiful sister gone before. Did she 
realize it? Was there a great shadow fallen over her life? Does 
it hurt a vine to ruthlessly tear asunder its support, its all earthly 
gladness and joy? Let her alone: a grief like hers JS too sacred, 
too desolate, too achingly weary to describe. Jesus knows what 
it is — "Jesus wept."' All our sorrows and our tears mingle with 
His. In after years does the shadow in the bereaved sister's bowed- 
low, crushed heart and over life disappear? No. it ever remained. 
i.'he ache in the broken seat of the affections never went out. In 
sweet communion the loving attached sisters still breath in each 
others love as one. No distance of immeasureable space, no 
time, as years, months and days are calendared in our chronology 
can part them. Not always, but for a season, when our Father 
taketh His children to His glorious home above. Her now ansel 
sister, whose child-like juid Christ-like disposition, no selfishness 
possessed in sisterhood, meekly and sweet loveliness and beautv. 
princessly and holy, her devoted sister can never forget. The righteous 



IX HIS NAME. 89 



shall be in everlasting remembrance. Those that know her only 
superficially might, mayhaps, call her proud, some willful, but 
they f of get the acjhe in the sister's heart, that they do not allude 
and do not perhaps remember how the asundered little vine was 
left trailing on the ground, sisterless; willful she may be, but she 
daily prays for strength to say, "Thy will be done." In our be- 
reavement when we give back to earth the fondly cherished form 
of the one so deeply and indelibly loved and served and prized 
and honored, the shadow of the bitter sorrow hides the bright sun- 
light of life; our aching hearts mourning the sore loneliness and 
forecasting the gloom of separation. With her the cloudless sun- 
light of God's presence, the "well-done" welcome of Him whom 
she had loved and served, the glad greetings of the loved ones gone 
before and the perfect assurance that for the fond surviving sister 
left on earth all things would work together for good to them that 
love the Lord. To her angel-sister the flowers of peace and joy 
in the presence of ber Lord. With her the severe storm of 
separation. Sorrow is the shadow of the divine wing of love, 
eternal goodness underlies all. There is a hope anchored in the sis- 
ter's heart that sometimes sends the sunshine across the sepulcher 
mausoleum monument hidden there. It was Jesus' love. There is a 
purpose in the sister's life that trims the broken shaft with pure 
white amaranths. God put it there, and words of some time ago 
came wafting on the air, and a sweet voice, now hushed on earth, 
sweetly, tenderly, sister-like it whispers, "We will not always 
be separated; there is room for my loved sister with me in the 
paradise of God's love, under the shadow of His wing.^' 



RED RIDING- HOOD, OR WON'T YOU BUY 
MY ROSES? 

Where will you find a prettier boquet of buds than that? 

Roses, beautiful roses', wont you buy my roses? 

White flowers of all my treasure rare, 

A lovely moss-rose of purest white, 

Oft kissed by shining rays of light 

And summer rain. O dear one true 

Forever more while life remains 

Wear the sweetest emblem of the train. 



90 Cs mS NAME. 



Please let this sweet rose be 
A token of filial patronage to me: 
I am rosy-cheek. Red Riding Hood. 
Wont you buy my roses? 

Roses, beautiful roses. O wont you buy my roses? 

A creamv pink rose-bud so fair. 

That I have watched with tender care: 

Its beauty perfect, for I know 

Its loveliness would rarer grow. 

Beneath the gleaming? of thy soft lovely brown eyes 

Far brighter than the blue of sapphire skies. 

A sacred treasure it shall be. 

A token of filial patronage to me: 

I am rosy-cheek. Red Riding Hood. 

Wont vou buv mv roses? 



HARRIET LOUISE, OR THE ANG-EL -WHISPER. 

Mamma. 
Baby, my baby, where have you been? 

Baby. 
I have been to the spirit-land and am back again. 

Mamma. 
Baby, my baby, what did you see? 

Baby. 
Pretty winged angels, they whispered to me. 

Mamma. 
Baby, my baby, what did they say? 

Baby. 
We love you. we love you. come with us and stay. 

Mamma. 
Baby, my baby. I can't let you go. They want you in heaven, we 
want vou below. 



IN HIS NAME. 91 



THIS INNUMERABLE THRONG. 

Rev. 5:11:12:13:14. 

What are these in bright array, this innumerable throng, 
Round the altar night and day hymning one triumphant song? 
Worthy is the Lamb once slain, blessing, honor, glory, power. 
Wisdom, riches to obtain new dominion every hour. 

Ihese through many fiery trials trod, these from great tribulations 

came. 
Now before the throne of God, sealed with His eterna* name, 
Clad in raiment pure and white, victor palms in every hand, 
Through their dear Redeemer's might, more than conquerors they 

stand. 

Hunger, thirst, disease unknown; on immortal fruits they feed. 
Them the Lamb amidst the throne, shall to living fountains lead. 
Joy and gladness banish sighs, perfect love dispels all fears. 
And forever from their eyes God shall wipe away the tears. 

Hark, their songs melodius rise, songs of praise to Jesus' love, 
Happy spirits they are fled, where no grief can entrance find; 
Every tear is wiped away, sighs no more shall heave the breast, 
Night is lost in endless day, sorrow in eternal rest. 



MY FATHER'S HOUSE. 

My Father's house is bright and fair, nor pain nor death can 

enter there, 
Its glittering towers the sun outshine; a heavenly mansion shall be 

mine. 
My Father's house is built on high, far, far above the starry sky, 
When from this earthly prison free, a heavenly mansion waits for me. 

My Father's house awaits weary souls, by sin and sorrow driven, 
When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, where storms arise and 

ocean rolls; 
It is heaven for souls distressed, a balm for every wounded breast, 
When all is dark and drear, but heaven. 



92 IX HIS NAME. 

Mr Father's house: faith lifts her cheerful eye to brighter pros- 
pects given, 

And views the tempest passing by, and evening shadows quickly fly: 

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom, and joys divine disperse 
the gloom, 

Beyond the confines of the tomb, appears my Fathers house in 
heaven. 



THE HARVEST. 



Jesus is the sower of good seed. It is by sowing the word of 
God that the Son of Man sows sons of the kingdom, because Jesus 
has sown them. The world is His field; he has purchased it with 
His blood, and it belongs to Christ. The sons of the evil one are 
sown in it, but they don't belong in it,and when the harvest comes 
they will be gathered out and sent to their own place prepared for 
them. Those who would be sons unto salvation must discover and 
improve their opportunities before it is too late, by especially con- 
versing with Jesus, of converse with Him alone in meditation and 
prayer. Jesus Christ is Lord of the field, and the Lord of the 
harvest. AVhen he ascended on high He gave gifts to the world. 
All that is good comes from Him in whom there is no variableness 
or shadow of turning. Ministers are instruments in Gods hands to 
sow good seed unto eternal Life. They are employed by Him, and un- 
der Him, and the success of theii- labors depends entirely upon His 
blessing. Jesus is the Son of Man, the Meditator in whom is in- 
vested all authority. The whole world or field is indeed Christ's 
field, for all things are delivered unto Him of the Father. This 
parable brings out veiy clearly the personality of Satan, the cer- 
tainty of his existence, the malignity of his character, and the 
activity of his movements. Christ sows sons of the kingdom by 
sowing good seed, the word of God. Satan sows sons of the 
Evil One by sowing bad seed. Satan and his sons do their work 
while men sleep, he and his legion always act under cover of 
darkness, their choice, and while men are off guard; and he brings in 
the subtleness of disguised infidelity with his higher criticism and 
his masked pantheism, entirely in opposition to our blessed Saviour's 
divine laws of Christianity. The two classes — the children of God 
and the children of Satan — are not always distinguisha'oie at the 
outset, but they will be distinguishable and separated, the former 
for heaven, the latter for perdition. History fiu-nishes count- 



IX HIS NAME. 93 



less instances of Satan sowing tares among Christ's wheat, and both 
history and the word of God warns us against deciding that all 
that appears among the Avheat must itself be wheat. Wliile the 
tares are not perhaps distinguishable from the w'leat until they 
begin to grow, they were tares from the beginning. The Master 
says, let them grow together until the harvest. The harvest is 
the end of the world. This world will have an end and time will 
be swallowed up in eternity. At the end of the world there will 
be a great harvest day, a day of judgment. At harvest all is ripe 
and ready to be cut down, it will be the harvest of the earth. 
At harvest the reapers cut down all before them, not a field, not 
a corner is left behind, so at the great day all must be judged. At 
harvest every man reaps as he sowed. Every man's ground, seed 
and skill will be manifested, and his industries of labor. The reap- 
ers are the angels. They shall be employed in that great day In 
executing Christ's righteous sentences, both of approbation and con- 
demnation, as ministers of His justice. Then the tares will be 
gathered out, no tares shall be among the wheat. There is .a 
great gulf fixed between the godly and the ungodly whereon no 
man can pass from thence; it separates the Godly-fearing from the 
evil-doer sons of Satan. The tares are gathered into bundles and 
cast into a furnace of fire, where they will now too late bewail the 
evil works of iniquity they did to the wheat on earth, growing so 
nicely until the tares tore it asunder. The wheat is gathered into 
the heavenly granary, it is the best production of the field, the 
most precious grain. God saith, "Gather My saints together to Me."" 
No more exposed to the evil-doer, nor wind, nor storms, nor sin, nor 
sorrow, all is tranquility and peace, so peaceful and heavenly. 
Heaven is the garner for the wheat safely secured there, in love and 
faith and trust. It is not what men hear, but how they hear, 
that saves them. An eye for righteousness is better than an eye 
for beauty, and a memory of noble deeds is better than a memory 
for dates. The perfect Christian is the one who is breasting tempests 
and bearing burdens, and fighting battles for God, and his life bears 
the fruit of the Spirit, resting in Jesus and reveling forward m 
Jesus all in all forevermore throughout eternitv. 



94 IX HIS XAME. 



MILDRED. 

Beneath May apple boughs I stand, 

With Mildred upon my breast; 
Her tiny pink-blush hands within my hand, 

Like fairy birds can make their nest. 

I reached her down a blossomed spray, 
Against her little heart she held it tight; 

The dainty petals dropped away. 
Beneath her kisses of delight. 

^^Tiile thus I hold the blossoms down. 
And little Mildred is fondling them; 

I kiss her darling baby gown, 

Sweet speckled gown with grass-stained hem. 

O little blue worn baby shoes, 
O little stockings round and wet ; 

So dear, so very pretty too. 
So darling, I like to look at you. 

O sweet, pale yellow, silken hair, 
O little neck so soft and white; 

O little hands so pink and fair, 
O apple-blossoms, my delight. 

The fairy posies on the tree 

Will turn to fruit 'ere close of spring; 
And by and by my Mildred will be 

Xo more a little baby thing. 

The pale and rosy petals fly, 

Ciood-bye. sweet May-bloom, almost done; 
Ah, kiss my little Mildred good-bye, 

Oood-bye, sweet Mildred, little one. 



LITTLE EMILY. 
Emily Milbank IngersoU. 

There was a sweet but tender blossom. 
That grew beneath the shade. 

And budded 'mid the vernal bower. 
Of some sequestered glade. 



EST HIS NAIVIE. 95 



The Gardner fears the autumn storm, 
And bears the tender plant away, 

To skies which are forever warm, 
To bloom in endless day. 

There was a lamb as white as snow, 

That gamboled o'er the hills, 
Reposed upon their sunny brow, 

And drank from crystal rills. 

The Shepherd dreads the wintry blast, 

And carries in His arms. 
The lamb where springs forever last. 

To screen it from all harm. 

Thou wast, sweet child, that lovely bud. 
Too tender and beautiful for earth; 

Here bathed by the celestial shower, 
A germ of heavenly birth. 

Thou wast the lamb of Jesus' love. 

That love which never dies; 
Which trained thee for the fold above, 

And bore thee to the skies. 

Then should we weep since thou art at rest. 
Or grieve since thou art secure; 

Or should we mourn since thou art blest. 
And thy salvation sure? 

We weep, dear Saviour, wipe these tears. 
For Thou hast wept at Lazarus' tomb; 

Made like Thee, like Thee we rise. 
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. 

When at last earth's glory star forsaking, 
Homeward we shall close out eyes. 

With a sleep that knows no worldly waking, 
We shall rest and weep no more. 



96 DC HIS NAME. 



THAT OTHER "W^EDDING. 

t?uppose Tou were unexpectedlv inWted to a wedding, and were 
enjoving the great pleas^ure of your long and delightful anticipation 
of your white dress, so kindly prepared for you. of the honor, ask- 
ed to such a wedding, of the day. and the sight of the gold and the 
jewels, and the marriage feast. Then again, suppose, just as you 
were dressing to go some one would say. "'No. you cannot go now. 
you must wait." and then days, and weary weeks would pass and 
still you must wait. I dreamed I was bidden to a marriage feast. 
Gladly I heard the summons — wonder-striv^-ken. I exclaimed, can it 
be, I. a mere child, insignifieeut, unworthy, am asked to be a guest 
in such a mansion? yet it wa* so. The first conception that im- 
pressed my mind with anxiety was my dress. It was already pre- 
pared — the robe of my Saviour — righteousness. How camly. how 
happily the days passed on. The feeling of reality that I 
was permitted by faith to view the golden streets, the pearly gates, 
the splendid jewels laid up for that day. The very sound of the 
chariot wheels seemed in my ears. I bade a joyful good-bye to all. 
Then a heavenly sweet voice, hovering near, gently said. "No. you 
cannot go now. you must wait." and I awoke and found that I had 
to wait, for I have waited, and still wait. days, weeks, months and 
years. If it were not for the love which I know will never forget me, 
and my prepared white dress, how could I be pi\tient! 

Dear Reader, have you a dress ready for that other wedding? 
w.thout which, when the Bridegroom calls, you cannot enter in — 
into Heaven, the place above transitory things: where we are never 
sorry: where enduring rest reigneth eternal: where sorrows ever 
I'ease, and crowns of joy be given: where we will live in everlast- 
ing youthfulness and bloom: when the pearly gates of truth, right- 
eousness and felicity, shall be opened to redeemed humanity, and we 
shall walk those gold j>aved streets, unharmed, sanctified and saved. 



IN THE HARBOR. 



The ships, the staunch ships with their masts. 

And white sails gleaming like oc-ean-spray : 
In strength and grandeur, through sunshine and blast. 

In the harbor are c-oming. coming today. 

The old ships, battle sldps, honored with scars. 
Veterans firm, and true warriors srav; 



IN HIS NAME. 97 



With golden years crowned, bearing trophies of war, 
In the harbor are coming, coming today. 

Alone each wrestled with waves of the deep. 
Together they end the long dreary way; 

And while many a wreck in the dark waters sleep, 
In the harbor are coming, coming today. 

Oh, loving hearts watching and fond hearts that wait, 
Weary your night has been, but the first ray 

Of the bright morning whispers in accent elate, 
In the harbor are coming, coming today. 

And, methinks, there is a song in the heaven on high, 
A greeting of loved ones, a triumphal lay; 

For thousands from time's troubled ocean are nigh, 
In the liarbor are coming, coming today. 

Coming, oh life, with its sorrows all past, 

Life with its weight of bliss theirs for aye; 

Safe from the storms of earth, conquers at last, 
In the harbor of glory, are coming today. 

This sHip with taunt and straining sail. 

Goes laboring through a leaden sea; 
Bleak winds about it counterwail, 

And blackening skies bend sullenly. 

The other shijj gayly hugs the shore, 

Across where noon its glory sheds; 
While bright as Euxine waters bore, 

A golden fleece of canvas spreads. 

And yet upon one tide the two 

Are hurrying to the deeps of night; 
Who knows when later lost to view, 

Which ship may bask in fullest light? 

And in the "harbor of God's saint," 

O sweet and pleasant soil, 
In thee no sorrow can be found, 

Nor grief, nor care, nor toil. 



98 IN HIS NAME. 

Thou art a port protected, 

From stonns that round us rise; 
A harbor intersected 

With streams of Paradise. 

No murky cloud o'ershadows thee, 

Nor gloom, nor darksome night; 
But every soul shines as the sun, 

For God himself gives light. 

Tossed in our reeling bark 

On life's tumultuous sea; 
Thy wondrous ways, Lord, we mark. 

And lift our hearts to Thee. 

Jesus is nigh, who trod 

Of old that foaming spray; 
Whose billows own'd the incarnate God, 

And died in calm away. 

Look up, ye saints of God, nor fear to tread below. 
The path your Saviour trod of daily toil and woe; 

Wait but a little while in uncomplaining love, 

His own most gracioiis smile shall welcome vou above. 



SEE THAT JESUS GETS IT ALL. 

As the pure white moss rose-bud is plucked 

From its slender stem away, 
Little Emmie pale and dying, 

On her couch at evening lay. 

Jesus had washed her in the fountain 

Of His all-atoning blood : 
He had sealed her by His spirit. 

He had brought her near to God. 

Wasted by a burning fever. 

Worn by restless nights of pain : 
Patient through her keenest sufferings. 

Never once did she complain. 



IN HIS NAME. 99 



She was walking in the valley, 

Almost at the river now; 
She could hear its waters rolling, 

She could feel them on her brow. 

Sister, quick, she whispei'ed faintly, 

In my little safe you'll see, 
All the cents I've saved for Jesus, 

Bring it, if you please, to me. 

Listen! For I want to tell you. 
Ere the shadows o'er me fall; 

Sister, give it to our Sabbath mission. 
See that Jesus gets it all. 

What a lesson, the faith of a little child, 
Do those simple, innocent words unfold; 

May their precious truth be carried, 
To the hearts of young and old. 

Christian worker, art thou prospered. 
Does the Lord increase thy store? 

Art thou grateful for His blessings. 

Dost thou share a tenth with His poor? 

O'er the tomb of little Emmie, 
While the tears of memory fall; 

Still we hear the distant music, 
See that Jesus gets it all. 



BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 

It may be too late to recall the past. It may be too late to 
set aright harm and intentional injury or wrong once done, to 
avert consequences, to stop the working of mischief that we may 
have placed in motion, but it is not too late, it is never too 
late, to come back to God. Darkness, envy, ha.tred and every thing 
impure and unholy must be put far away, and we must abstain from 
sin, and we should earnestly pray to the great Light of the world 
to fill us with His glorious light. It is not sufficient to put away dark- 
ne.ss, we also have to put on light. The natural heart prefers and ever 

L.ofC. 



100 IN HIS XA.ME. 

seeks the works of darkness, but not so with the Christian, whose 
heart is cleansed through his Saviour's redemption from sin, and fill- 
ed with all goodness. He who said, "I am the Light of the world " 
can alone put within us the desire to be clothed with the armor of 
light. AVhen we compare the calm and the peace, which the smallest 
and most imperceptible grain of faith gives the soul, with ah that 
the world alone can bestow of joy or happiness, we feel that the 
least in the kingdom of heaven is a hundred times more blessed than 
the greatest and most elevated of the men of the world. To live 
obedient to divine laws is to possess the love of God. surpassing 
I. .at of man. We know nothing if we do not comprehend that 
earth can produce no lasting portion or settled bliss. We know 
all things when we place our hopes an Christ's rei'eeming grace, 
who died that we might live. The course of evil begins so slowly 
and from such slight source an infant's hand might stop the 
breach with clay: but. let the stream get deeper and philosophy 
and even religion too, shall strive in vain if the heart remains in- 
sensible of its eternal need of a foundation on Christ, to turn the 
head-long cun-ent. 

"So live, that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan that moves 

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 

Their chamber in the silent halls of death — 

Then go, not like tne quarry slave, 

Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed. 

By an unfaltering trust in Him who came 

To guide thee to immortal joys above." 

lo find the beautiful we must carry it with us, as with the 
forest leaf, as with the Christian, the glory of its coming Is 
eclipsed by the glory of its departure. Christianity scattered by 
tne wayside is the sublime march to immortality. It is the teach- 
a )le state of the mind and heart that easily receives what God 
says in His word: it does not assume to know beforeliand what He 
ought to say: it hears God, and then believes what He says. God 
has lent us the earth for our life, it is a great entail, it belongs 
as much to them who are to come after us, and whose names are 
already written in the book of creation, as it does to lis. Virtue 
is not more exempted than vice from the ills of fate, but it always 
contains within itself an energy to resist them, sometimes an ano- 
dyne to mitigate and soothe. We must expect life's harmony to 
have its discords, yet its music pathos is tempered into enjoyment 



IN HIS NAME. • 101 



by the pervading spirit of beauty, so are all life's sounds tempered 
by love. How brightly do little joys beam upon a soul which 
stands on a ground darkened by the clouds of sorrow. So do stars 
come forth from the empty sky, when we look up to tiicm from u 
deep well. Heartless sayings are as easily lost as the ocean's 
pearl slipping off a broken string; but a word of kindness is seldom 
spoken in vain, it is a tiny seed which when even dropped by chance 
springs up into a blossom. Kind words are bright flowers of earth- 
ly existence; evasions are the common shelter of hard-hearted when 
called upon to assist, while the tender, even alone, plan instantan- 
eous help when perhaps their looks or words presage difficulties. 
The dark and crooked path in which we may have to grope our 
way in doubt and fear may be bent, the curve which in the day- 
light of a brighter world will appear to be the necessary finish 
of some rare jewel of exquisite brillancy, the inevitable span of our 
majestic arch. The more perfect the soul the more joyous the 
joys of heaven and the more glorious to us that glory. Life will 
bring cares, and doubtless many of them may be heavy and bitter: 
still, if we trust God in the sunshine, we should aTso with patience 
trust Him the same in the shadow. He will never forsake us, in 
prosperity or adversity; the same all-wise ruler, yesterday, today 
and forever. The main object of the Gospel given to us from (Jod 
is -to establish two principles— the corruption of nature, and re- 
demption by Jesus Christ. The mountains of righteousness should 
Le to us a shelter in our sorrow, not a barrier. We need feel no 
anxiety how low the valley was, but^ rather "how far towards 
heaven the peaks rose. It is true that frost and shower may 
work for ages on a granite ledge and their work seem almost 
in vain, but" may not the earthquake rend and crush it if God 
command, in a few instants; and thus if we continue on in per- 
.,aps a long life of sin, God can in displeasure in a moment de- 
mand our never dying soul, and if we do not prepare for a holier 
existence in the future, a life yet to come of unceasing, endh^ss 
ages, how would we be worthy occupants of those heavenly man- 
sions of purity? Have we given our all. soul, body and talents to 
God through the blood of Christ which cleanseth us from all sin? 
aiave we devoted our spare moments, which are the gold-dust of 
time, to i^.s service? What have we done for the cause of our 
Master? Have we, upon solid or careful examination or investiga- 
tion, done one thing? Have we been charitable to God's poor? 
Have we spoken a kind word to their desponding hearts, and 
heli>ed them on their way? Have we bestowed a Kind smile upon 
them to brighten their clouded pathway? Who can tell the value 



102 IN KiS NAME. 



of a smile that costs the giver nothing, but is beyond price to the 
erring and relenting. It disarms malice, subdues temper, turns 
liatred to love, revenge to kindness, and paves the darkest and 
most obscure paths with gems of sunlight. A smile in kindness 
renders the true features of the face beautiful, as true proportion 
the beauty of architecture; and true measures, that of harmony 
and music. Only a loving heart can effectually present a loving 
gospel, as with loving words they soothe and comfort the hearer. 
Of all the portions of our life, the leisure moments are the most 
fruitful for good or evil; they are the gaps througli wliich tempta- 
tions tind the easiest access to the garden of the soul. If you 
cannot be what yovi might have been, yet you can stiil be some- 
thing that Christ will love, accept and value, a humble, penitent 
heart. If you cannot serve God as you might have done, though 
you nuiy have done wrong that you can never undo, yet you 
can still give Him what He values more than all, a will surrendered 
to His will. If it is too late for any thing else, it is never too late 
10 join the service of Christ, to become His disciple. It. is never 
too late to come back to God, even if late, it is better late than 
never. 



THE RETIRED BANKER; OR, 
THE PHILANTHROPIST. 

A London banker had successfully prosecuted his business and 
amassed what all bankers desire, an ample fortune. His estate indeed 
was a princely one. He had purchased a large and beautiful estate 
in the country. Tlu're is something in the pleasures of the coun- 
try that reaches much beyond the gratilication of the eye, a 
something that, invigoi-ates the mind, that erects its hopes, that 
allays its perturbations, that mellows its affections, and it will 
generally be ascertained that our happiest schemes and wisest reso- 
lutions are formed under the mild influence of a country scene and 
the soft obscurities of rural retirement and rustication, such as we 
may find among the rural hamlets of Rome and Pans. The banker 
had also built and furnished a splendid mansion in town, on the 
Surrey side of the river, and now that he was verging Towards sixty, 
he concluded to retire and enjoy the remnant of his life in peace- 
ful leisure. He negotiated for the transfer of his abundance-mak- 
ing business, disposing it for another fortune. He then retired. 
He had his halls, his parlors, dining rooms and drawing rooms, his 
librarv and cabinets of curiosities. The floors were covered with 



IN HIS NAME. 103 



the most mosaic specimens of Bi'ussels, velvet ov Turkey eaipetings. 
The furniture was of the most complete and exquisite selections; 
the walls with splendid minors, and with classic paintings were 
adorned, and fine linen decorated all. Carriages, liorses, grooms 
and servants were at his command. Books, pictures, statuary and 
engravings were at hand to interest him. The daily and weekly 
papers and other periodicals brought to his table all the news of 
the great world, and his friends and acquaintances paid him homage, 
rxow happy must the man be who has all this. However, he was 
not happy, he had no aim, no moJtive. The zest with which he read 
the pajjers when he was a banker he had lost; now Tie had ceased to 
ue engaged in transactions of deposits and security concerns, in 
interests and judgments. A storm, a fleet, a pestilence along the 
Mediterranean shores were matters of importance before because 
he had investments there. Now they were of no consequence to him. 
The vieAvs and aims of government were watched by him before 
with searching scrutiny, because his destiny was T)Ound up with 
theirs. The parlimentary debates were of the greatest inference 
before, as indicating British policy; but that to him ceased to be 
an object of importance. His fortune was achieved, his course Avas 
run, his destiny fulfilled. Soon everything and place appeared to 
him a uniform and universal blank. His beautiful apartments 
were unused, his caiTiages and horses unemployed, liis books un- 
read, his papers unopened, his meals unrelished, and his clothes 
unworn. He had lo^t all enjoyment of his life, and contemplated 
ending his own existence that his heavenly Father had created, and 
was tenderly caring for, and bestowing wealth and luxury in pro- 
fusion. Saturday night arrived, and he resolved on Sabbath morn- 
ing early, before the busy populace were stirring, he would make his 
way unobserved as possible, and jump or tumble ofY into the river 
from the Waterloo bridge. At three o'clock on the following morn- 
ing, he set out on his final expedition, and had slowly reached the 
bridge, the shadows of the night protecting him from observation, 
when a figure stood before him. Amazed at being seen by any 
one, he turned quickly out of his path, when the form crouching 
low before him revealed a tattered, miserable man, bearing his 
head in abjectness. What are you doing here, inquired the banker 
in a husky tone, imperiously. I have a wife and family whom I 
can't help from starving and I am afraid to go and see them. Last 
night I knew they would be turned into the streets, replied the man. 
Take that, replied the banker, giving" him his purse, with gold and 
silver in it, reflecting inwardly to himself — how much more use- 
ful this will be to him than in my pocket in the water. r4nd 



104 IN HIS NAME. 



lilcss yi)u, sir. (iod bless you, sir, cxcljuiiu'd llic man .sovcral times, 
kii(H'liii,y lu't'oif till' astoiiislu'd haukor. Stop, said tiio banker, do 
not ovcrwiiclin me so with your thanksgiving, but tell nie where 
vou li\e. In Lambeth, sir. Then why are yon here this morninj,', 
said liie banker'.' 1 do not like to tell you. said the man. 1 am 
ashamed to tell a yentlenum like you. Why .so, replied the banker? 
Well, sir, rei)lied the man, as 1 had not a single penny, and did not 
known how to get one, 1 eanu' here to drown myself, although J 
knew 'twas wieked. Tlie banker was eompletely eonfounded and 
ap]ialli'd. and after a huig silenee said, my man. 1 am overwhelmed 
with wealth, and yet 1 am miserable and unhai)py, (hat I eame 
liere tliis morning for the same purpose as your.self. Tlu're's 
something nmre in this than 1 ean understand at present. Let me 
go witli yon and see your family. The man nnule every exense 
to hinder the banker. b\it lie would go. Have ymi lost your eharae- 
ler. said the banker? No, sir, replied the nnin. but 1 am so sutt'er- 
ing potu' ;ind wretehed. ami f<n' anytliing 1 know my wife and 
children may be turned into the sln-ets. Why are you lUit of 
wiU'k and pay, resununl t lie banker. 1 used to groom the horses of 
liie stage eoaeiies, said the man, but sinee railroads are beeoming 
>.o universally general, stages and eoaehes are not in the demand 
ihey formerly were, and work is put down, and many a nuin 
like me has no empioynumt. The banker ami the miteast pKulthd 
on their way. two miles of briek and mortar piled on either side. 
At last they eauu' lo a third rate house, where a rough, eoarse- 
looking Wiunan was opening the iloor and shutters. As soon as she 
saw the man she let loose her tongue upon liim, for all her hard lot 
in the worUi. instead of presenting at the outset her case to God, 
an all wise Providence, in prayer, and who turns none empty away 
tiiat seek His overllowing favor bestowed upon them; but .some- 
thing whieh passed frmn his hand to hers, aeeompanied by a feu- 
thankful words, referring how good He was the Giver, hush»d her 
in an instant, and observing the banker, she courtesied to him 
civilly. The man ran u]) stairs, leaving the banker and woman to- 
gether, wliieh a Horded the former to make further Inquiries al)Out 
tlieir condition of destitution. Having satisfied himself that abso- 
lute want was the erime of the family, he told the woman who he 
was, promised to see her paid, and indueed her to set on and pre- 
pare a breakfast for the family, and supply them with everything 
necessary, whieh they needed. The nuin returned and the l)anker 
went up stairs, where the mati during the l)rief interval had been 
arranging things as tidily as vould be done with worthless chattels, 
to see for the first time a wretehed familv in rasrs. dirt and 



IN HIS NAME. 105 



squalor. He compassionately comforted them with liope of b(^tter 
days, and on the morrow took the man with him and helped with 
j.»s own hands to load v wagon with bed, bedding, clothes, furni- 
ture and nourishing food for the family. The man wa.s gone, 
and the banker for the first moment meditated on all that had 
passed. He was relieved of his misery by doing something for an- 
other, and out of mere selfishness he resolved on becoming a 
phi]anL..ropist to others in order to prevent the necessity for 
drowning himself. A beneficent person is like a fountain watering 
the earth, and spreading fertility; it is therefore more delightful 
and more honorable to give than receive. Some men are so covet- 
ous as if they were to live forever, and others ho profuse as if they 
were to die the ne.\t moment. The banker employed the man in 
his stable, removed the family near, and placed them In a cheery 
and comfortable cottage — sending the children to school. Soon he 
sought out misery to relieve, and was led to consider the cause of 
all misery — sin. He turned to God and found Him, and sought to 
turn his fellow sinners. He aided every worthy cause and 
work, and was the humble teller of his own humble story. He 
had been a man seeking gcx)dly pearls, and having found the pearl 
of great price, he went and sold all that he had and bought it, and 
the retired earthly banker became an active heavenly worker. 
That Sabbatli morning's described incident had brought happiness 
to him, that served to fill his heart with the unsurpassing joys 
that delight only in pleasing their ixjrd. 



GOLD KEYS. 



A bunch of gold keys is mine, 
To make each day with gladness shine; 
"Good morning"— that's the golden key 
Which unlocks every day for me. 

When evening comes, "good-night," I say, 
And close the door of each glad day; 
When at the table, "if you pleasce," 
I take from off my bunch of keys. 

When friends give anything to me, 
I'll use the little "Thank you" key; 
"Excuse me," "beg your pardon," too, 
When by mistake some harm I do. 



106 IN HIS NAME. 

Or if unkindly harm I've given. 
With the "foro-ivo mo" key I'll bo torgivon; 
On a golden ring these keys 1"11 bind. 
This is its motto, "be ye kind." 



OUR BURIED TREASURE; OR, WHY DID THE 
ANGELS TAKE MOTHER AWAY. 

Wo"ll meet our Motlun- there. 

Oh. oall my Mother baek to me. 

It seems so sad to st«y alone; 

The summer's coming with birds and tlower;?. 

Can not my mother oome? 

JShe faded in her beauty. 
As withered the white lily; 
When its delicate petals droop. 
Di>:appoar and vanish from view. 

She passed with a smile from among us. 

And left us to mourn; 

For the treasure we could not 

With calmness resign. 

The light of our homo 
Has grown dim since the hour. 
It lost the precious presence 
Of our fair angel mother. 

Her spirit returned to its Maker. 

It is resting securely with God: 

And the lifeless cold body is all remains to us now. 

Of our fair angel mother above. 

Oh. would they could watt us. 
Our treasure above. 
Some tender remembrance. 
And token of love. 

A mystical sign that 
Our fond mother does not forget ; 
A blessed, confiriwed assurance. 
She loves her children vet. 



IN HIS ^AME. 107 



Or, is it designed, 

That wo hear not, or see. 

One trace of our beloved mother 

Till death set us free? 

Do we pass througli this earthly vale, 
With its shadows and bright, 
That the untold glory of heaven 
May burst on our sight? 



JESUS BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Tliougli we are but young and few, little clusters help to fill the 
garners too. 

'Twas a lovely sight on which to gaze, 
As the bright sun slied its brilliant rays, 
On tlie verdant plains of the Holy Land, 
O'er the Saviour and His cho.sen band. 

And as He sat His truth expounding. 
The mothers of Israel gathered 'round Him, 
And raised their children in their arms. 
To behold His bright and radiant charms. 

The Saviour gazed with a kindly look, 

On the lovely group, then a child he took, 

And laid His hand on the curly head, 

And blessed the young, the pure, the fair. 

How the mother's heart must have beat with joj, 
When the Saviour blessed her prattling boy; 
It made her heart replete with love 
When He l)lessed her little girl, her dove. 

A lesson here we well might, learn 
Of the mothers anxious great concern 
For her children so dear, and oft she prays, 
That God may guide them in His ways. 

Now children, grieve not your mother dear. 
But every wicked, naughty action fear. 
Because your deeds, like arrows enter, 
And wound her heart, e'en to its centre. 



108 IN HIS NAME. 



Remember, too, that from above 
Jesus looks down and smiles on those who love 
Their mother, and He will bestow His grace. 
On all who earlv seek His face. 



SCHOOL DAYS. 

Vice Versa. 
The Turn Tables. 

My dear little boy, said Horace Crangle to Rock Paxton, you 
have been very kind and useful to me ever since I arrived at this 
place, and I wish very much that — . Here the speaker, a youth 
fuil three years older than the child-scholar he addressed, who 
was a clever little juvenile in his tenth year, suddenly made a 
fu.i stop, and his dark, but intelligent countenance was suffused 
by a deep blush, on observing; which, Horace said. What do you 
wish? I am sure I will do anything to oblige you, lor you have 
been very generous to me, and that is more than I can say of any 
other of our great boys. I wish much that you would be my little 
attendant all the time we are in school together, for I love you 
better than any other little boy. Rock answered in a rather dis- 
pleased tone, 1 would not be your attendant, (supposing it prob- 
ably was intended for some inferior service), nor that of any 
grown up man, for all the world. I beg your pardon. I did not 
mean anything that is not nice, that is not my wish, but I was told 
when I came here that I should have a little l)oy wlio would 
help me, and to whom I must in return be very kind. I supjwsc 
taey said you would have a little assistant and friend. Yes. that 
was it: that was what I wanted. Well. I have no objections to be 
your assisiant. Yes, I will be .vour little friend, too. with all 
my heart. Horace stroked up the light ringlets that fell about 
the fair face of Rock, as he said. All I mean is that I am a 
stranger, and find myself very ignorant compared to those around 
me in the academ.v, who are much younger than myself, and 1 
want some one to help me, as you have already done, for whiv 
would be grateful. Little Rock was an orphan, placed at school 
by a relation, who unwilling the expense of so genteel an estab- 
lishment as the one his pride, not his affection, had selected, 
..aa in the providing been most sparingly, and subjected the poor 
child to many mortifications: his clothes were generally much 
shabbier than those of anv other bov: he had no home, at the 



IN HIS NAME. 109 



holidays whither he could invite any of his school-fellows, and what 
was worse tnan all, he never had any pocket money, and though 
he had learned manfully to resist the temptations of cakes and 
oranges, he had by no means acquired the power of enduring the 
sneers which the vulgar and unfeeling indulged in on witnessing his 
poverty. At these moments his indignation rose whilst his little 
heart bled with sorrow, and lie sought to hide his emotions in 
solitude. He had hitherto mingled so little with his companions 
that he had not made that connection with any which was generally 
resorted to by which the youngest claimed a protector, and the 
elder obtained an assistant, a friend. This circumstance had been 
favorable to little Rock's improvement, for he had often spent that 
time in reading which the others gave to play, and in conse- 
quence he was much in favor with the more judicious part of the 
teachers ;but their kindness did not, of course, advance him in 
the graces of his school-fellows, who looked upon him as a per- 
son below their grade in societj', and compelled to learn In order 
to supply his wants. Pride of circumstances is peculiar to narrow 
minds, and therefore all children are given to it, because they 
are all ignorant until properly informed by those who have the 
care of their education, and it too frequently happens that this 
information is neglected for points in fact of much less moment. 
Young Crangle was not aware of this; and although the son of a 
very wealthy man, since his father had no title, nor was spoken 
of as related to rank, the little community did not recognize him 
at first as entitled to consideration; and in the kind-hearted, 
though retiring little Rock, he perceived the first person who 
recognized his claims to kindness as a stranger. When he became 
sensible to his own deficiencies and Rock's willingness to save him 
from shame or blame, his aflfections increased tenfold, and it is 
certain that although he made a great blunder in his offer, yet it 
was in the mode only, for from the time of their bargain, his purse 
and his power were alike at Rock's service, and when his ample 
stores were known, all the rest were quite willing to share his 
friendship and presents. Rock soon found that his generous friend 
had excellent abilities, but great idleness, and he set himself, by 
every means in his power, to excite the former and conquer the 
latter. For this purpose, whenever Horace wanted him to write 
an exercise or do anything else for him, he used to show him how 
to do it, but postively refused to prepare it, and so far from accept- 
ing gifts for his service, he uniformly refused taking from him 
even an apple until the task was finished, when he would say, we 
ran eat them together in pleasure. Horace would sometimes be 



110 IN HIS NAME. 



so vexed with his firmness as to be ready to abandon the contract 
lie had made, but the remembrance of the little boy's real utility 
and allection prevented him. In time he began to feel the pleasure 
resulting irom having conquered his difficulties, subdued his in- 
dolence and acquired the knowledge necessary for his station in 
life, and whilst he found himself the equal of Rock, he yet never 
forgot that it was to his influence he owed the advantage lie had 
gained. Horace remained at school till he was nearly twenty-one, 
as his father wished to give him every advantage^ but Rock was 
removed when he was in his fifteenth year, as his uncle desired to 
make him early useful, and being a tall, manly-looking boy, as 
well as an industrious and clever one, he soon became of importance 
in the counting house of his wealthy relative, who was a flourish- 
ing merchant. The two boys were thus eflectually divided in per- 
son, but tiieir hearts long clung to each other, and- very hard did 
poor l\(ick consider it, when his uncle^ who was a severe, cold- 
hearted man, forbade all correspondence with his old school-friend, 
as a foolish and expensive waste of time and mojiey. Years passed 
on; the uncle died, and after denying his nephew during his life 
almost every indulgence, left him, at twenty-seven, a large fortune 
and extensive business, of which he was the uncontrolled possessor. 
Perhaps the sudden acciuisition of so much propertj' and liberty 
might have lieen injurious to a young man. and hitherto so closely 
confined in circumstances, if he had not at an early age, at a very 
early period, found a better channel for disposing of his wealth 
ana occupying his leisure than in the dissipation and pleasures of 
the metropolis. One morning as he sat at breakfast his ser- 
vant announced a stranger, and after earnestly surveying 'iiim. 
Taxton, throwing down the newspaper in his hand, rushed impetu- 
ously towards him, exclaiming, Surely, I have the pleasure of see- 
ing my dear old friend Crangle? Yes; Rock, you see him it is true, 
, unchanged in heart, but, alas, very diflTereut in circumstances. You 
are now a man, conversant in the affairs of life, you are well 
aware of the great and sudden losses often experienced by stock 
exchanges. My father, and, of course, myself, have been, by the 
failure of one, amongst the greatest suflferers. I am sincerely 
grieved to hear it, said Rock; but come, sit down, my dear friend, 
we can talk over these matters at our leisure. No, Rock, 1 wii: 
not sit down till I have told you all. My poor father is at this 
time settling all our affairs, and will follow me with the wreck 
of our property; this, I fear, will barely prove a sufficient support 
for us three, I include my sister, and therefore, I now come to 
ask you to change with me, as men, the relative situation we held 



IN ms NAME. Ill 



together as boys, lake me to be an attendant, oi- clerk, or assitant, 
or whatever you chose to call it, in your counting house. 1 will 
take you to be all tlire^. dear Horace, for one year, and then most 
gladly make you my partner, if you shall have found the dulies 
demanded from you agreeable. In the meantime do not grudge me 
the pleasure of feeling I am your friend, my old friend of our 
school days. Generous, noble-hearted Rock, cried Crangle, as he 
tlirew his arm around him. All, how different is your reception 
of me to that of many others since the days when misfortune began 
to frown on me. Thankfully do I accept all your kindly-tendered 
offers, for I am well aware that I am in reality welcome to your 
house and your heart. You never flattered my faults as a boy, 
you never cringed to me in my days of boyish bounty, and there- 
fore you will never wound me by your pride, now the tables are 
turned vice versa. Horace, my dear old school friend, remember 
also that I took freely that which you gave freely, and that I owe 
debts of kindness in return to you without end, which as a regular 
tradesman it is now my duty to discharge. How often have you 
slipped into my hand the ten cents I wished to give a worthy beg- 
gar, how many pretty instructive story books found their way 
into my desk from your kindness, what battles did you wage for 
me? Oh, Horace, my old friend, what pleasure we shall have in 
talking over bur early school days. Pleasure of the purest nature 
were indeed theirs. Crangle became vigilant in business, and as his 
father eventually realized a considerable sum, he was enabled to 
enter into business with his friend on nearly equal terms. But 
this made no difference in the minds of either party, for they were 
alike generous and confiding, tliough prudent and industrious. 
With the talents and cultivation o'f polished men, they retained 
the warm affection, the simple kindness and enthusiastic friendship 
of early life, and many companions of that, period proudly press 
around them no^^•' to partake the praise of being also the friends 
of the upright, firm little Rock and influential Horace, that they 
remembered in their school days. "Mark the perfect man, and 
behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." 



112 IN HIS NAME. 



ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. 

"Vivere est cogitare. Sic transit gloria mundi.'' 

You may wandei- far and wide on every side, 
And learn, ah, me, that fond true hearts are rare; 
And he that is best loved of all. 
Has not one friend to spare. 

When fortune shines our friends arise. 

Like stars, and all is bright ; 

But when misfortune clouds, like suns they set, 

And all in ebon night. 

Ah, Friendship, thou art but a name, 
Thy true worth is only rarely found; 
And we learn, how very soon we learn 
•'All that glitters is not gold."' 

Then look upward from time and its dreams of delight. 

Pass on to the land of possession and light; 

Seek this, and this only, and all will be well 

When our summer friends here below have all bid us farewell. 

O blest are they who seek in Him, 

A union to their Friend: 

His love shall grow through life's decay. 

And live when life shall end. 

Beneath the fair dome we dwell. 
By the same kind hand are fed; 
And pilgrims in one narrow way, 
Are by one Spirit led. 

And blest be He whose love bestows 
A friendship so divine. 
And makes by oneness with Himself, 
A Friend forever mine. 



IN HIS NAME. 113 



CONTENTMENT. 

As the little violot bright, 

Turns its face towards the light, 

Lifting up its heart of gold, 

From the blackness of earth's mould, 

Nestling "mid the soothing shade, no one of its life aware. 

Save for sweetness on the air; 

So would I contented be 

With the place God giveth me. 

The meek little forget-me-not, its blossoms seek the sky, which 
earthward bent awhile, turn as they ope to meet the sun's bright 
smile, and as hey upward gaze, first flush with pink, then mirror 
heaven's own blue, and every flow'ret bears of sunny hue a crown 
of rays. 

Those who pursue an undeviating course in the paths of daily 
life seldom complain of discontent, or the evil that befalls them; 
they rather bear the trials of afflictions which may overwhelm 
their purposes, and consider the losses and crosses as messengers 
sent from heaven to remind them of the end of all things mortal, 
and that those near and dear to us, who have sufTered for our 
sakes and died, have not been taken from us in vain. If we 
slight with disregard the message, then as the barren fig tree 
we are cut down in the wrath of an offended God. He is merciful 
to the righteous; with them it shall be well; but to the wicked it 
shall be ill. The contented and resigned mind may connect what 
some might deem or term misfortune to their advantage. They 
do not rest their hope exclusively on ambitions, wealth or power, or 
regard either before virtue and contentment, which qualities are ac- 
ceptable in the sight of God and man. They fear no adversary but 
sin, which they resist and conquer by prayer to Him whose eye 
ever watches o'er us. The one thing needful is of far more im- 
portance than to have our names enrolled among the sons of 
war and royalty. How surpassing honor's distinction it is to stand 
spotless and pure before our Maker. 

"The sweetness of the bitter cup, 

That to my lips so oft is pressed, 
I'll gladly, gladly drink it up, 

Content to get the sweetness with the rest. 



114 IN HIS NAME. 



Contentment is better than wealth, and we will ascertain that 
perfect earthly happiness is a phantom of which all are in pursuit, 
and which none are able to embrace. ^lost persons are desirous 
to possess earthly happiness and lousr for it, but it is mostly kept 
at a distance from them. It is a mere shadow, always flying. 
passiniT to and fro, though never caught. It allures only to 
deceive. It promises, but to disappoint. It is the great object 
for which the majority of mankind live, but perfect happiness no 
person living has yet found, and what none ever can lind until they 
arrive at the inexhaustless source from whence it springs, the 
throne of God. 

The contented enjoy all seasons, and they are calm and cheerful 
amidst the storms of winter as in the morning of spring. They con- 
sider the poor their brother, and though, perhaps, not themselves 
rich, their hands often relieveth the necessities of the afflicted. 
The contented in their frame of regularity and steadiness and un- 
nmlestcd state of mind doeth well, and fearest evil. Those can 
oe said to live indeed who live for others as well as their own 
individuality. Their name shall flourish from generation to genera- 
tion, and their adherence to God's precepts will be observed, noted 
and inculcated by the virtuous, and their merits exist upon the 
hearts of God's followei-s. written everlastingly, and which advancing 
years cannot eradicate,, the sun of virtue, and unchanging content- 
ment and resignation to the blessed will of God. Is it not a benevo- 
lent, contented disposition, with whom these rest? Who. as he looks 
around the world, views the habits of his friends or looks into his 
own heart, can answer? Who strives to be contented or benevolent 
truly? The politician cannot be contented until he has risen from 
the lowest station to the highest office and then he Is discontented 
because he cannot go farther. The merchant is discontented be- 
cause he cannot make money as fast as he could wish. So with 
the miser and so with almost all else, whatever the trade or pro- 
fession. Those in power may. in exceptional cases. T)e unhappy be- 
cause their power is limited; and those who ha^-e none complain 
-or tuat reason. But discontent is not the only passion that ren- 
ders m«n unhappy and disturbs his equanimity, for invariably 
it also brings with it en^•T, and thus each one looks with a jealous 
eye on his neighbor, deeming him more happy or prosperous than him- 
self: while in fact that neighbor regards him with like feeling. Were 
happiness truly man's pursuit, each one would strive to be content 
witJi what he has. whether of money or power. We can scarcely 
analyze an action or saying, but we find Aanity at the bottom to 
analvze an action to enumerate these sources would be almost ad in- 



IN HLS NAME. 115 



finitum. There is no passion deeper rooted in our nature, or with 
which our sympathies are stronger than that of love, and it is this 
that constitutes the main feature of contentment, having its 
foundation in sympathetic virtues, and touch the same chord in 
unison. Life is not a holiday. Life is a discipline. Our's ought not 
to be a doubtful love, and a discontented mind; it must bear a lov- 
ing spirit, that soars up to our Master, having fought well; hav- 
ing come, out of the fire of tribulation unscathed, having passed 
through affliction adorned with a more beautiful resignation and in- 
spired with a more confident hope. When we feel discontented, the 
best panacea is to visit some one far worse ofT than ourselves and 
contrast their condition with ours. Not some piteous hei'O of an 
exciting 'fiction, but a real and well known sufferer, whose condition 
put the blush to our murmurings over trouble, which pales almost 
to nothingness before the sudden, more hopeless case rising before 
our eyes. Wo look on the dark, shady side of events, instead of 
looking off and beyond to where hope looms in the distance, lending 
strength with which to endure the appointed experiences of life. 
Jesus is a path, a robe and bread, if we be misled, unclothed, or 
chance to be hungered. Real Christians, those who faithfully bear 
the name of Christ in worthy acceptance of His rules, Cod hath 
Ciiosen them, like a few quick-sighted men amongst a company of 
blind ones out of a crowded world. And He hath made them 
faithful, contented and patient. They are like a city set on a hill, 
like the light in Goshen, when all Egypt was dark besides; or like 
Gideon's fleece, only watered wi^h the dew of heaven, whilst the 
rest of the earth was dry and destitute of His favor. Great cause 
or contentment indeed. Of all the lights that we carry in our 
face, joy is the one that will reach furthest out to sea. Life is 
indeed a voyage over a turbulent sea, and the light that will shine 
or reach furthest out is the one to carry. There is need of grati- 
tudev combined with conentment. God is good, and His tender 
mercies are over all. His works and the kind Father will make 
our cause His care; He will hold us up so that we shall not fall, 
and will deliver us from those who oppress and wrong us. The mo- 
ment the rain begins to drop upon the water lily, though it is 
rooted in water and has its chief element in water, its leaves seem 
to be clapping their hands, and the whole plant rejoices in the 
falling of the rain. A sweet lesson it is to us to look up in love and 
contentment to heaven, and give thanks. Why do the children of 
God suffer sorrow and affliction? It is the seal of sonship| To 
contentment and patient endurance God grants the most vivid 
and beauteous revelations of His grace. Wlio then would not 



116 IN HIS NAjME. 



long to engage in the conflict when the guerdon is so rich in the 
case of overcoming? Our life should be one of contentment. Thanks 
for all God's blessings is only just tribute. There is no greater 
blessing than a contented heart. We owe a debt of gratitude, which 
we should always be praising God, never ceasing to our latest 
breath. Contentment is a precious jewel, a lasting treasure of the 
heart, pure and grand, and which time cannot make depart as 
the years go by, for it still blooms within the garden of our soul, 
charming its pathway to the sky. There is an inestimable bless- 
ing in a cheerful, contented spirit. When the soul throws its 
windows wide open, letting in the sunshine of contentment and 
presenting to all who see it the evidence of its gladness. It is not 
only happy in counterjmrt, but includes all, as it has an unspeak- 
able power of doing acceptably in His sight; and to the other 
beatitudes may be added. Blessed are the joys of contentment. 

Discontent may storm, complain and roar. 

In midst of frowning wrath he beats the shore; 

The sky of contentment, with its calm ocean blue, 

With meek tenderness from its height looks down so true. 

As it gleamed a radiant smile of reproof divine. 

Discontent's anger green to contentment's sapphire blue with magic 

skill 
Did change, and the stormy ocean still'd. 
And the sun of contentment did shine. 

Pause thou thy heart, and the lesson learn. 
When discontent's darkness falls, and mists of doubts burn, 
Contented be, 'twill pass, and thou Avilt know that the sun-rise, 
.-till shines with fervent glow in contentment's unchanging skies. 



BLUE SHOES, AND THE LITTLE "WHITE ULSTER 
AND HOOD. 

Tes Yeux Bleus. 

There is a tiny figure enshrined in my heart, with great eyes of 
heavenly hue, that hold in blue disguise angels two, that 'neath 
white curtains of her eyes would peep at you, that showed so 
clear and fair, much of heaven showing there, and sunbeams for 
hair, and every time the vision now rises before me, my soul 



IN HIS NAME. 11^ 



goes out in an intense longing for tlie baby-bud tliat is blooming 
in the garden above. 

There is a little grave on the ridg^slde, 
O'er which have no blossoms yet been; 
Upon it the first rains have fallen, 
And around it fell the first winter's snow. 

Two plump little pink hands, 
Always so ready at play, 
Piling the silvery sand 
In castles that soon drift away. 

Or else gathering the roses so sweet, 
To twine round in its own childish head; 
While life's little hours seemed too fleet, 
For soon on baby wings it bid us forever farewell. 

There is a dear little chair by the table, 
That vacant will be evermore; 
There is a box laid away full of playthings. 
Baby blue shoes and little white ulster and hood. 

There is one more little angel in heaven, 
How selfish we are to complain; 
There are two precious little hands folded 
Away from earth's sorrow and pain. 

And no sin can never now touch Delly, 
Or tarnish her soul pure as gold; 
For her has dawned the glad morning, 
That will never wane into the night. 

Oh hearts that are empty and sore, 
For little ones under the sod; 
Hold fast to the sweet words of promise, 
"Of such is the kingdom of God." 



118 IN HIS NAJNIE. 

TELL JESUS. 

Is there n sliadow resting on thy brow, 
Caused by the daily trials that none may know; 
• Trial, which 'little though they seem in one, 

Oft fret thy life as water frets the stone? 
Tell Jesus. 

Is there a chord within thy aching breast, 
More sensitive to pain than all the rest. 
That oft is struck by cruelty and wrong, 
Until thou fain would cry, Lord, how long? 
Tell Jesus. 

And does thy spirit grieve o'er doubts and sin. 
Thick clouds without and fiery darts within? 
Poor tempted one, there is a never sleeping eye above, 
Marking thee daily with a pitying love. 
Tell Jesus. 

And when dark waves of tribulation roll 
In wild and surging billows o'er thy soul, 
Oh, remember, amid the tempesfs night of One, 
Who cried in that dark hour, Tliy will bo done. 
Tell Jesus. 

And dost thou moan in solitary mood, 
Sighing because thou art not understood; 
That in the world there is no spirit -tone 
To echo the sweet smile of thine own, 
Tell Jesus. 



OUR NETV CHURCH BELL. 

Whither are the people walking, 
Dear mamma, I want to know ; 
Some are with each other talking, 
So we silently alone go? 

"Tis to church, my child, they are turning, 
'Tis our new church bell called them there ; 
Each one with a Bible in his hand. 
Goes to pray at God's command. 



IN HIS NAME. 



O how kind was Christ in saying, 

"Little children, come to me;" 

Will you come, sweet child, and be His love, 

Give your tiny self to Him above? 

Then when you have done with earth, 

And you are called to die; 

In His loving arms He'll carry you to Immanuel's land. 

To His fair home on high. 



MOTHERLESS. 

'Now on Jife's billows tossing wild, God steers my frail sea-shell. 
Late Katharine Agusta Milbank. 

My gentle mother, spirit blest and pure, 

With pity hast thou watched thy orphan child. 

(Seen me with courage life's dark ills endure; 

And on my brighter hour, propitious smiled, 

Eternity and joy are thine above; 

I do but claim my mother's love. 

In the first hours of life, bereft of thee, 

Reflect on how my childhood languished for thy care; 

No fond maternal embrace, alas, awaited me; 

No soothing lullaby and no holy prayer; 

Yet still my heart invoked thee, mother dear. 

My mother, dost thou hear? 

In the pale moonlight at the twilight's close. 
With all they told me of thy peerless bloom. 
Haunting my solitude, thy image rose, 
As thy sweet charms descended to thy tomb; 
With by gone summers on thy beauteous brow, 
My mother, an angel now. 

Oh, my fair mother, what deep love untold. 
Buried within my silent bosom lies; 
Like crimson buds that never can unfold, 
Chill'd by the clouds of our wintry skies, 
As treasured gems I keep my deep love untold. 
My mother, until we meet again. 



120 IN HIS NAME. 



For thee, my mother, what yearnings rise, thy love Tmmense, 

And its immortal power for the trembling girl, what bosom feels V 

No gentle hand like thine my tears to dry; 

Thy presence is what no friend or stranger can supply, 

No pillow where my burning cheek could rest. 

For me, no mother's breast. 

My heart instructed me and nobly taught 

The love that binds us, death cannot decay; 

By God's own hand its golden bands were wrought, 

My mother, mine, though only for a day; 

And now on this earth I look above, 

Confiding in my angel mother's love. 



THE LAMBS OF THE HEAVENLY FOLD. 

'He shall gather the lambs and carry them in His bosom.' 

'Mid the pastures green of the blessed fold, 

Where never is heat or cold; 
Where the light of life is the Shepherd's smile. 

Are the Lambs of the Heavenly Fold. 

Where the lillies blossom in fadeless spring, 

And never a heart grows old; 
Where the glad new song is the song they sing, 

Are the Lambs of the Heavenly Fold. 

There are tiny mounds where the hope of earth, 

Were laid 'neath the tear-wet mold; 
But the light that paled at the stricken hearth, 

Was joy to the Lambs of the Heavenly Fold. 

Oh the white stone beareth a new name now, 

That never on earth was told; 
And the tender Shepherd does guard with care, 

The Lambs of the Heavenly Fold. 



IN HIS NAME. 121 



"WILL SHE WIN HER WAY? 

"Un biea fait, n'est jumais perdu." 

During a summer ramble in Daupliin, one of the provinces of 
France, before that conntry was divided into departments, and 
which now comprehends the divisions of the Isere, the upper Alps, 
and the Drome. The little village of La Bergere, in the latter of 
these is the scene of my narrative. Perhaps some day we may be 
"Americans Abroad,'' and see the village where my young heroine 
Josephine resided, and sit under one of the almond trees, and 
remember her and her brother Louis, knowing whether she succeed- 
ed in winning her way to the fulfillment of her eager gratification 
of the unwearied longings and the untired labors of her hands. The 
father of Josephine rented a small vineyard, the produce of which 
was no more than sufficient to procure only the plainest quality of 
apparel and food for their daily sustenance; but with this no one 
was discontented. Never did the members of the family of four as- 
semble around the table, spread with bread, fruit and milk, without 
expressing the gratitude of the heayt to Him who had so kindly 
provided for their daily necessities. Louis and Josephine were the 
only children of their tender parents, and Louis was older than 
his sister. No children were more united than Louis and Josephine, 
and it was a great comfort to tlieir parents. While an infant, Louis 
had been her little guardian; he walked with her, and carried her 
across little brooks and sat down with her and weaved baskets of 
sainfoin for her. And when she passed from infancy into child- 
hood he became her instructor and companion. One of the profes- 
sors in the place having noticed the quickness and excellent dispo- 
sition of Louis, had a sort of paternal affection for him, and had 
taught him those elements of knowledge which he, in his turn, was 
desirous to communicate to his sister. Time thus passed away. 
Josephine was rapidly advancing in her studies and approaching 
womanhood, and Louis' eighteenth birthday had arrived. Short- 
ly before this period, a new conscription, which means an allotment 
of young men in the army, had been ordered by the emperor, and 
it was unfortunately the very day after Louis had attained his 
eighteenth year, that a return was to be made of all the youths 
within the department who had reached that age. Louis' name was 
given in Avith the rest, and unluckily the next day he was drawn a 
conscript. Josephine knew that this event was possible, for Louis 
had explained it to her; but, yet, wheil he was seen vaulting over 
the low wall into the vineyard in the evening, decorated in a some- 



122 IN HIS NAME. 



what soldierly appearance, the usual smile forsook her lips, she 
hid her face in her hands, and a torrent of tears gushed from her 
ej'es. It was a gloomy evening within the once happy cottage of 
this loving family. The bereaved old father scarcely raised his 
head. His wife, the affectionate mother of Louis, scarcely did any- 
thing but weep and lament by turns. As for Josephine, she could 
not remain in the cottage, but strayed beyond the vineyard to a 
grassy slope, and sat her down beneath one of the almond trees, 
that she might the more freely give vent to her sorrow. She was 
at last recalled to herself by the voice of her kind brother, wlio 
came in search of her, to bring her home, as the dew was beginning 
to fall, and the damp moisture was rising. A neighbor, one of 
the richest in that district, was sitting in the cottage wlien Josephine 
returned. He, too, had that day a son drawn a conscript, and as 
Josephine entered the house, she heard him say that he had al- 
ready agreed for a substitute for his sou; and that the bargain 
would cost him five hundred francs which are equal to t\\enty 
sovereigns. And Josephine also heard that it yet wanted fourteen 
days of the time fixed for the march of the conscripts. Many a 
time after neighbor Albracht had taken leave and closed the door 
after him, did Josephine repeat to herself what he had said, and 
long did she ponder upon it after she had laid her head upon the 
I)illow. Five hundred francs could save Louis; for, with the 
idea of his going to the wars, Josephine could not separate the 
certainty of his being killed. But how were the twenty sovereigns 
to be obtained. Her heart of perplexity almost sank within her. 
Josephine know well her father possessed them not ; and as for 
herself, sae, poor thing, had only two sous. In brief, with a sad 
heart and swollen eyes she, after asking her Heavenly Father to 
aid her in her tender, anxious request, dropped to sleep, and as 
sorrows seldom pursue the youthful mind into the watches of the 
night, Josephine slept soundly and awoke on the following:;- morn- 
ing refreshed, not long after the lark had sung his first hymn at 
the gates of heaven. Josephine, ever since she had been a verv 
young girls, not more than eight years old, had employed herself 
during her play hours in a pursuit that no doubt was to her a 
source of much chidish delight. It was not painting that was 
Josephine's pursuit or accomplishment; there were no colors, no 
paints in oil or water, no brushes to be bought, no drawing master 
to be found at La Bergere, nor if there were, Josephine had not the 
means for paying for these; everything concerning it was natural 
ratb.er than artificial, both in art and in the composition, which com- 
posed the substance. Neither was Josephine's pursuit the collec- 



IN HIS NAME. 12:1 



tion of insects, she was too tender hearted for this. For if she 
caught a beautiful insect, she would not torture it like some cruel 
boys and girls have been found guilty of doing such acts of unfeel- 
ingTiess; but it was with the light touch of gentleness only to admire 
Its purpiC wing and let it go, that Josephine handled it, knowing 
what would be sport to others, would be death to the helpless in- 
sect, and she desired not to inflict a pain upon anything that God 
hath made for joy. Josephine's pursuit was to gather and preserve 
wild flowers, whieli she dried in so perfect a manner that almost 
everj' charm remainc d with them. But besides this, Josephine had 
found out the art of taking such perfect impressions from them 
upon silk, which was given to her every j^ear by the Lyons mer- 
chant who bought the produce of her father's vineyard, that the 
grace, the tints, the freshness, all but the fragrance of the flowers 
continued to live in these lovely impressions. I am unable to im- 
part by what process Josephine contrived to do this, it was in the 
result to prove profitable and delightful to her, who possessed not 
the means or opportunities of cultivating her own mind to lier sat- 
isfaction. The kind-heartedness, perseverance and courage to the 
cause of Josephine's filial affection is highly creditable and recom- 
mending. Josephine, as I have said, awoke early and refreshed the 
morning after she had cried herself asleep at the prospective realiza- 
tion of being parted from Louis, and after having dressed herself 
anu said her prayers, in which she did not forget to name each mem- 
ber of her respective family; this morning praying most fervently 
that He would open or provide some way that her dear and only 
brother could remain with them. Arising she happened to turn her 
eyes upon some withered mountain anemones, rare and beautiful 
plants, which she had plucked the day before, and were the first 
flowers she had neglected and allowed to wither. Her floral album 
was lying open before her, she took it up, and turned over the 
leaves, and many were the beautiful forms and various lovely hues 
that presented themselves to her eyes. "Can this,'' said sue to 
herself, meditating seriously, "be of any value? Oh, that I had 
not neglected these anemones, the only ones I ever found." That 
day, and every day for more than a week, Josephine was absent 
the greater part of the morning, and every evening she applied 
herself, with more than usual care, to the occupation of filling her 
floral album. Her father and her mother, and Louis, too, won- 
dered that she should withdraw herself so much from the society of 
one she so dearly loved, and with Avhom she was so soon to part, 
but something was evidently laboring in the mind of the youthful 
Josephine. At length her afl"ectionate mother drew from her her 



124 IN HIS NAME. 



secret. "Josepliine, my dear child," said her mother one day, as 
she came in witli a handful of flowers, after having been so long 
absent, ''your father was seeking for you today to tie the vines; 
but how is it, love, that when our Louis is so soon to leave us, you 
stay so little at home? You used to love Louis, Josephine." Poor 
Josephine, it was too much for her to be suspected of indifference 
to her beloved brother; she burst into tears, and hid her face in 
her mother's lap, continuing to sob bitterly. Her young head, with 
its coronal of gold, bowed as if with a weight of sorrow almost 
surpassing what her fragile form could bear. But when her 
mother gently raised her up and softly kissed her cheek, and 
told her she was sure she loved Louis, Josephine wiped her eyes, 
and told her mother all she had to tell. Her floral album, she said, 
she was most certain Avas worth something, perhaps a great deal. 
She would carry it to Valence and sell it, and in all these days she 
liatl been diligently occupied in seeking for llowers more rare 
and beautiful than those she possessed. For an hour at a time she 
would walk up and down a j^ath where flowers grew and smiled 
in their marvelous beauty in the sweet May sunshine, gu.uering 
choice selections for further additions. She would not, could not, 
part from Louis; she would labor day and night to fill her album 
if she might but obtain permission or leave to go to Valence or to 
Rue d'Hauteville, Paris, and sell it. And here Josephine began 
to weep. No one spoke, but her father and mother exchanged 
looks, their eyes, too, filled Avitli tears. Josephine Avas not an idle 
girl; she had been taught and trained that idle persons can never 
find time for anything, and the reason is that thej^ have always a 
huge bundle of arrears to engross their attention. They can do 
little or nothing; they are always intending to do a vast deal, or 
more strictly speaking because they have alwaj'^s a vast deal waiting 
to be done. It is not well for the young to be too loquacious, 
rather they should listen to the counsels of their Christian parents, 
who know best that which interests their future welfare than they 
whose experiences in life are as yet untried. Tlie pith of con- 
versation does not consist in exhibiting your own superior knowl- 
edge on matters of small importance, but in enlarging, improving and 
correcting the information you possess by the authority of others. 
Neither the father or mother of Josephine saw any prospects of 
benefit from her project, and yet. when she ran and fetched her 
treasure, and spread out its beauties beiore them, Josephine's 
'scheme did not seem to their simple minds so absolutely visionary. 
Josephine anxiously watched the eflFect of her exhibition, the collec- 
tion of flowers her girlish hands had with loving tenderness fash- 



IX HIS NAME. 12.> 



ioned in artistic designs. She did not enjoy apprehending her floral 
labors would be appreciated by none, less than the youthful de- 
signer, and that the gain or purchase of it might seem too shallow, 
a certainty her parent mentally experienced. Josepliine, seeing it 
favorable, beseechingly implored her parents to grant her petition. 
She had often, she said, walked farther in search of flowers than 
to Valence; if she did not succeed, things were no worse. But 
she was uncertain of success, and her mother had a relation not 
far from Valence, where she could remain all night. At length 
her father and mother yielded, more to gratify the virtuous wish ot 
an afTectionate dutiful child, than any other motive, and nexl 
morning was fixed for Josephine's journey. Josephine went early 
to bed, that she might be fortified by rest against the fatigues of 
the following day, and by sunrise she was ready to set out. Hav- 
ing carefully tied up her floral album, and put it Into the little 
basket which she took to bring home some necessaries from Valence, 
she went softly down the wooden stairs that she might not disturb 
her parents. The wakeful mother, however, heard her and called 
"Josephine." Josephine was the next moment by her side, and 
with the kisses and blessings of both parents, she drew the door 
after her, and passed into the vineyard. There another embrace 
awaited her, for Louis was already at work, and Avatching her de- 
parture. He, although he tenderly loved his sister, and secretly 
wished to remain, yet felt some little pride in being destined for 
the pursuit of glory, and had never either thwarted or encouraged 
Josephine's proposed plan, which he believed would come to nothing. 
One more embrace, and "Adiau, man fiere," and "An revoir. ma 
chei-e soeur," and Josephine had left the vineyard, and was on 
the road to Valence. It was as lovely a May morning as e^^r 
broke upon the beauties of Dauphiny. The fields were yet gemmed 
with dew, the woods stood silent in thick masses, the uprisen sun 
darting its yellow rays among their trunks, the deer were standing 
in the glades, snuffling the breath of the lovely appearing morning, 
and the little birds were trimming their moist plumes in prepara- 
tion for their early soaring and matin-song. One could almost 
imagine they could see Josephine tripping along, her little basket 
slung under her arm, and now and then opening the lid, and assur- 
ing herself of the safety of her treasure. It was three long leagues 
to Valence, but Josephine hardly slackened her pace all the way. 
If at any time she felt a disposition to relax, the thought of her 
brother and the importance of her mission, immediately gave her 
strength and urged her on her way. Once or tAvice, indeed, she 
stopped to look at a flower by the way-side, and two or three times 



l_li IN HIS NAME. 



to take out and open her floral album, that she might be more and 
more certain its contents were really as beautiful as she fancied 
them to be. It was market day at N'alence. Numbers of girls 
were standing with baskets of vegeables, butter and eggs, and 
some few with flowers. Among the latter Josephine, the French 
flower-girl, took Iter place. Jieing a stranger to the market-girls, 
a., of whom knew eacli otlier, and her little basket being closed, 
she was an object of some curiosity to them. For a considerable 
time she stood without any one taking n(jtice of her, considering 
in what way she was to display her treasure to the persons who had 
now begun to Iook into the baskets and make purchases. At length 
one of the market-girls, who was standing nearest to her, addie^.- 
ing her, ma petite, requested to Know if she liad anything to sell, 
and what she had in lior basket. Josephine drew forth her floral 
alum, and was unloosening the string, when a laciy coming by, 
asKed the same question, which Josephine politely and lady-like 
answered by dropping a courtesy and patting the floral album into 
her hand; but after e.xamining the leaves, she returned it to Jose- 
phine and passed on. Soon after another stepped up, and turned 
over the leaves of her album. One specimen was called "joli, ' 
another "gentil," and a third "superbe,"' but the lady never in- 
quired the prices of them. Many others looked at Josephine's 
floral album; all praised the beauty of her speciments, some passed 
extravagant encomiums upon her ingenuity, but she only found one 
customer, an elderly gentleman, who calling her "pauvre enfant," 
gave her five francs for as many leaves of her floral album. At 
last poor Josephine was left almost alone, and as she saw the 
girls one by one leave their stations, having sold the contents of 
their baskets her heart quite failed her, and with tears in her 
eyes, she put her album into her basket, and went in search of 
the relation's house where she had promised to stay all night. 
But Josephine had only been once before in Valence, and going out 
at the WTong gate, she might have walked all night before reach- 
ing the hamlet where her relative lived. But Josephine still walk- 
ed onward with a sad heart indeed, and every minute growing more 
weary and her feet more tender from the hard paved roads, which 
were very dift'erent from the meadows where she used to seek for 
flowers. The sun was near setting, and Josephine, entirely ex- 
hausted and beginning to be afraid, sat doA\Ti upon a stone at the 
gate of a fine chateau, and began to cry in a heart-breaking manner. 
Sue had sat there but a very short time when a person on horse- 
back stopped at the gate. Josephine, with in instinctive civility of 
a French child, rose to open the gate, and at the same moment 



IN HIS NAME. 127 



recognized the old 'gentleman who had given her five francs for 
five leaves from her floral album, while he also, at once knew 
the little interesting flower-girl, who possessed so ingenious a method 
of preserving and taking tiie impressions of flowers. He was one 
of those persons who never sees distress Avithout feeling a desire to 
re.xcve it, and when he observed Josephine's swollen eyes and 
trembling steps, he kindly inquired into the cause, and dismounting 
from his horse, and walking up the avenue, taking hold of her 
hand, he soon drew from her her little tale of sorrow. The Baron 
de Haven had no wife living but he had four daughters; two about 
or nearly the same age as Josephine, and two a little older, and 
the greatest pleasure and pride in the father was to see his daughters 
instructed in all that was virtuous and useful and accomplished, in 
ail that was innocent and pleasing, and it was for their use in tiie 
study of painting that he had purchased the leaves of Josephine's 
floral album, while at the same time he felt a pleasure in i"eward- 
ing noble, unwearied ingenuity. Josephine and her story was in- 
troduced to the young ladies at the same time, and nothing could 
exceed their admiration of the beautiful impressions on silk, which 
Josephine showed to them, except their admiration of the purpose 
for which she had carried them from home; nor could anything 
exceed their anxiety to become acquainted with so pleasing an 
art except their eagerness to befriend Josephine. "I am sure, my 
dear children," said their father to them, "you would like Josephine 
to teach you to make such charming pictures as these." Every 
face gladdened at the idea, and every tongue was ready to exclaim, 
■ rhank you, dear pape," and to express delight at the proposal. 
Some fruit and delicacies were ordered for Josephine's refreshment, 
and quickly the little flower-girl and her four pupils were seated at 
a table, silk provided, fresh flowers brought from the garden, and 
every happy face expressive of the most delighted attention as 
Josephine, taking the flowers that were perfuming the room with 
their delicate fragrance, and the silk in her hand, began. "Voyez 
vous, mesdames." It needed but a little while to perfect the 
young ladies in the innocent art, and in less than an hour each 
ad a sweet flower, graceful and glowing upon white silk, to 
present to kind papa. "My dears," said lie, examining the specimens, 
"we are all much indebted to our young friend, but our thanks are 
not sufficient by way of payment. She has given to you a new 
source of pleasure, which, but for her, you might never have 
possessed. I am confident you are willing in return to continue to 
her a source of far, far higher pleasure, the society of a devoted, 
attached brother. Go then to your stores, and bring each of you 



128 IN HIS NAjVIE. 



what yoii can afford."' In a moment they were at the door, and 
presently, in a few more hurried minutes, their silvery voices re- 
sounded again in the room, and their girlish hands were about to 
present a handsome bead purse to Josephine, filled witlv silver and 
some gold i>ieces, when the baron said, "Hold, my children, I wished 
only to show Josephine that virtue is sure to find sympathj' and 
reward, and to give her the opportunity of witnessing if my 
treasured daughters would as a voluntary, on their part, self-denial, 
present to her all their little bank's contents in return for the 
favor rendered to them, and tendered to her prized brother; but it 
is your father, my sweet children, who pays for your education. 
The purse itseJf, however, shall be a gift from you." The baron, 
then taking Josephine's floral album, put twenty-five louis dors into 
the empty purse, after handing his daughters back their gold and 
silver currency, and put it in Josephine's basket, saying with a 
smile, "Ten of them are for the floral albiun, five for teaching my 
daughters your pretty art and the other ten you are to return when 
you grow rich."' Josephine all the while could not find words to 
thank them all, but stood, with burning checks, down which 
tears of gratitude and joy rapidly followed one another. Josephine, 
exhausted with the fatigue's of the day, was soon conducted, after 
family prayers were over, to bed, by her young sympathizing friends. 
Joy for a while kept her awake, for her sorrows had turned into 
happy smiles, but she at length dropped into a peaceful sound sleep, 
and next morning, with the kind adieus of the young ladies, she 
was conducted on a gentle horse to within a short distance of 
her father's vineyard. Need I tell what joy followed tlie narrative 
of her adventure and her success, or what blessings were bestowed 
upon Tier? PJicture the family gnuip, and the questiioif? and 
smiles and kind looks that passed among them. But there was 
something beyond this — their gi-atitude to God, the inward con- 
tentment which follows the happy accomplishment of a virtuous 
resolution. "La virtu est seule noblesse," and this Josephine 
felt. Some time after this event Josephine's father removed his 
family to a large vineyard on the estate of the Baron de Haven, 
where as he increased in wealth, he joyfully repaid the ten louis 
d'ors and blessed in the society of a beloved wife and two amiable 
children, Rosen passed the meridian of his days in tranquil hap- 
piness, acknowledging in his prosperity the hand of God. And that 
Louis who later on married one of the Baron's lovely daughters, 
ever continued to remember with sacred and whole-soul gratitude, 
and to repay with kindness the affection and the services of his 
attached sister, testifying, "Un bien, n'est jamais perdu." 



IN HIS NAME. 129 



RUTH. 

The tiny princess of America. The sweet child gi'ows more 
beautiful every day. 

It was an Easter morning, 

The sky was tinged with red; 

When little Ruth came walking, 

From her superb little crib; 

Standing beside the bay window, 

Some innocent child-like words she said. 

The spring is long in coming, 

So tardy, 'tis hard to wait; 

Snow lies yet in the pathway, 

Beyond the garden gate; 

It seems the birds and flowers will never come 

If winter stays so late. 

Just then the sun arising. 
The shadows put to flight, 
The pretty face of baby Ruth, 
Eeneatn his smiles are bright, 
A blue bird on the lilac bush, 
Began to sing with all its might. 

:Viy child, 'tis Easter morning. 
Her loving mother whispered low; 
The day the blessed Lord arose. 
So many years ago. 
Is that, asked little Ruth, 
Why the bird is singing so? 

My hasty longings and complainings, 

I know, sweet mamma, were very wrong; 

The birdie doesn't murmur, 

xnat winter stays so long. 

And though he has had no breakfast, 

Me sings a cheerful song. 

In the wonderful child's dimpled velvety hand the unfolded rose. 

childhood's fleeting emblem, glows, 
And her face the fair impress wears of childhood's happiness; 



130 IN HIS NAME. 



Wherefore not? A wealth is the tiny princess, better than the 

world confers J 
liOpe untried and always new, innocence of spotless hue. 
And those treasures of the mind, which the lowliest heart shall find, 
If its search be rightly bent, golden mirth and sweet content. 

The childish hands grow tired of play, from the nursery its feet 

speed fast away. 
And never cease until she finds her fond mother's door is open wide; 
And tightly clasped in arms so kind doth then abide. 
What cares Ruth, mamma's little girl, its weary head is on her 

breast, 
For now she knows, " 'Tis sweet to rest." 



GATHERING SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE; OR, MY 
NAME IN THE SAND. 

Some time ago I strolled on the Raritan bay-shore strand, 

A pearly shell was in my hand; 

I stopped and wrote upon the sand. 

My name, the year, the day. 

As onward from the spot I passed, 

One lingering look behind I cast; 

A wave came rolling high and fast. 

And washed my name away. 

And so, mayhaps, 'twill shortly be. 

With every mark on earth from sea; 

A wave of the ocean's foaming tide, 

Will sweep across the place. 

Where we have trod the sandy shore 

Of Time, to be no more for us, 

The day, the month, the year, the name we bore. 

To leave no track, no trace behind. 

And yet for Him who counts the sand, 
And holds the waters in His hands; 
We know a lasting record stands, 

Inscribed besides the lines below our name; 
Of all this mortal part has wrought, 



IN HIS NAME. 131 



Of the good or evil fight our souls have fought. 
And from these fleeting moments represent, 
Our glory or our destruction. 

Roll on, roll on, restless waves, that toss about and roar, 

And roll across the stony wide bank, 

And far across the sea-shell shore; 

Why do you run back again over the pebbles, 

When you have reached the golden sand? 

Make haste, or else the tide will turn, 

Flowing higher up the Raritan bay-shore strand. 



MABEL. 

"Now I lay me down to sleep." 

Written by request of an aunt of the late Vice President Hobart, 
in memory of her friend's child. 

Mabel left us when the song birds 

Sang May's sweetest morning song; 
And we listened sadly, sadly, 

To their warblings all day long. 

For it seemed they called our darling, 

Called our Mabel o'er and o'er; 
But we knew her voice was silent, 

Silent here forever more. 

Little Mabel, how we loved her. 

But her Saviour loved her more; 
And the angels bore her on their pinions, 

Over on the other shore. 

Bird-like songster, winsome fairy. 

How we miss her day by day; 
And the light from home has vanished, 

Since the loved one went away. 

All her playthings seem to tell. 

Something new of her we love; 
But we know that Mabel 

Plays the golden harp above. 



132 IN HIS NAME. 



In her walks and in her plays, 

And all her wanderings o'er; 
Oh, while Mabel with us stayed, 

Could we have loved her more? 

Prospects, instead of easing, aggravate. 

Ah, here she walked, there plucked an opening flower; 
Turn, turn my ej'es, nor irritate. 

The wound that's now too deep for earth to cure. 

But stop and pause, our child is not, hence will I go, 
To God, who though He frowns, is still the same; 

She was not always ours, though fondly we called her so; 
He gave. He took, and blessed be His name. 

Look neither inward, on thy griefs to pore. 

Nor outward for relief from creature joys; 
Look upward, to thy God, thence help implore. 

And it will come, and come from Him. 

What then? Her powers we hope will not expand. 
Our views compared with hers, are childish now; 

She needs not little toys to amuse her mind. 

Christ Jesus whom she sought will be hers all to know. 

Surely her sorrows and misery now to joys are turned, 
Yes, sure her child-like cries are heard and sped; 

Her tender hopes to blest fruition changed. 
And all her little fears forever fled. 

Return, our souls, the work of life attend. 

A little while to labour here is given. 
Until the resurrection of the just, 

To draw us hence and fix our hearts in heaven. 



THE GRAVE. 



Tread lightly, tread lightly, above the quiet dead. 
Crush not a vine or tender flower, beneath thy careless tread: 
Breathe not a loud, discordant tone upon the night wind's breath. 
Holy and pure and blest are they, who sleep the sleep of death. 

Sometimes the grave is a link that binds those long separated 
more closely together: and that but for their angel-like and 



IN HIS NAME. 133 



triumphant death, we should have forever gone farther away. 
We find hidden in the grave love sanctified, tried by affliction, and 
well tried by time, and as we stand across the silent sacred grave 
which contains the renii.ins of a life once full of happiness, our 
hearts beat with remembered, tender, sweet memories. The mission 
of earthly mortality of our much-loved dead has been fulfilled; the 
struggles and conflicts were over; all cares on that fair brow arc 
ended and the heart that had daily been upturned to Divine in- 
spiration and Divine approbation is resting in a Heavenly Father's 
love and care. Perhaps we recall when our loved dead, when in 
life, (and with what an intense and agonizing grief we cling to our 
departed dead), with us tripped lightly and fairy-like over the 
same spot we ai'e now standing upon, and in her gentle 
hand she held a cluster of white stars she had just plucked from 
the sod; her hair waving to and fro, like a ripple of sunbeams. 
Flowers are the holiest purest emblems we can tender as a tribute 
10 our self-sacrificing dead. Have you never observed in a city ot 
the dead a pure carrara marble shaft with a broken white lily 
carved in relief at the top? The majestic flower in its calm 
humility presents a sad cast, although still grand in its heartfelt 
symjiathy and lowliness. A stranger lay there in her last sleep. 
but she was somebody's lily. Wlien we walk past each silent 
sleeper, our words come not easily when the heart is full, and 
torn with grief, our eyes shining through tears, the tear-drops falling 
with every step that touches the walk. Tlie true defining of the 
grave is the end. 

Yet not thus extinct, or buried. 

The vital spark shall fly; 
For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise, 
To seek its kindred sky. 

My ashes too, my little dust, 

My Father's care shall keep; 
Till the last angel rise and break, 

My long and weary sleep. 

"Weep for the mourn'd for, lifeless dead, weep softly. 

She lieth like a statue, white and cold. 

Like the soft marble, at the top of the sculptured column, 

The dead have yet another tomb, the heart's enshrining; 

There are the inward tears, perpetual shed; 

Grief, with ail otlier memories entwining. 



134 IN HIS NAME. 



And often deep within the unpitying tomb. 
Lies all the heart had in this world for loving." 

Some of us have stood beside a mother, when her infant bloom 
and morning bud was consigned to the grave, and have witnessed 
the deep intensity of her holy affections, as she bent over its life- 
less form, livid and stiffened by the touch of death; and her sad 
sobs caused other tears to flow, as she turned away from this last 
remnant of mortality, lone, desolate and heart-stricken. Perhaps 
from the first moment of that infant's existence her heart-strings 
had been twining round her household cherub, and treasured 
every tender feeling that a mother's love ever knows. Every fond 
hope that a mother's love ever forms. Every cherished idea of purity, 
virtue and innocence were centered upon her only sweet darling, 
so that in its death she heard the knell of all her worldly joys; of 
all her bright visions of the future; the hope that it was to soothe 
her after years by its filial love was crushed; longed for expecta- 
tions that it would watch by the bedside at the hour of departure, 
to close her aching eyes; to whisper farewell and give its departing 
maternal parent joy, as her spirit was entering into the harbor of 
glory, and her body placed in the realms in shade in the costly 
mausoleum, "requiescat in pace, in coelo quies;" was swept away 
now,, and she is left with God. "The Lord gave and the Lord 
taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." The Comforter in 
every trial, small or great. The Consoler of the bereaved, to 
breathe a painful sigh to winds that murmur low their plaintive 
vigil, and tell her Father all her love and all her woe." 

"Are the angels' hymn on high, 
Softer than a mother's sigh?" 

There is never -a cross so heavy. 

But the nail-scarred hands are there; 
Outstretched in tender compassion. 

The burden to help us bear. 

There is never a heart that is broken, 

But the loving Christ can heal; 
For the heart that was pierced on Calvary, 

Doth still for His people feel. 

The flowers sank beneath the sultry air, 
Thirsty, parched leaves fell dim and dry; 



IN HIS NAME. 135 



Nor passed the sun's unclouded glare, 

Till night in kindness veiled the sky; 
Then drank the flowers delicious dew, 

The leaves in balmy coolness slept; 
Sweet flowers, how many hearts like you, 

Have pined uncheered till sympathy wept. 

Beside the grave of infant bloom. 

The early lost, the mother's flower; 
Beside the hero's long, dark tomb. 

The broken home, deserted bower, 
Where memories that know not rest appear, 

And aching hearts will solace find; 
Like heaven's own dew, falls Pity's tear. 

Sympathy, the last, best angel of mankind. 

The fair mother, whom God in His just Providence saw best to 
lay His hand upon, and she is perfected in patience and suffering 
through the love of Jesus. With a face now turned heavenward, 
she patiently awaited the muffled oar of the great Rescurer, smiling 
through her tears, if in perplexity, not in despair, trusting in 
Christ's death, but revealing His life also; hope to her having given 
place to heaven. 

"Hope is like dew on the blossoms of morning. 

From out of the dreaming to be; 

Or the blush of the fair azure sky. 

The prefume of roses, the mist on the mountain. 

The earthly waitings and longings and raptures. 

Of mortal pleasures we never can keep, 

The beauties whose life is to die." 

With heroic devotion, depth of fullness of spiritual life, sweetness 
of spirit and amiability of character, were hers to an unusual degree; 
full of cheer: given to hospitability : responsive to good works; 
striving to make others glad. Overlooking her own sorrows and 
bereavements, she strove to cultivate the home amenities. They 
were the trophies she tried to win. Her charities more than hid 
her faults. Beautifully she adorned the doctrine of her Saviour 
in all things. Her home was the ideal Christian fireside. Seven 
children were given to call her mother, three of whom preceded 
her to Paradise. Her last two years of suffering blossomed into a 
lire beyond of sweet buds of faith personified. So passed this lovely 



136 - IN HIS NAME. 



sainted Christian wife and mother, with her dear Master's name 
on her lips in full assurance of eternal life. "She bore the cross; 
she wears the crown."- 

How precious to the child now were the teachings of that mother, 
whose sacred mortal remains it tenderly bends over; even with so 
many untoward circumstances that mother had been faithful to 
tlie end. Yes, yes, we will cherish her memory now, and love 
her still. Plant sweet, pure flowers over the grave, immortelles, 
that should bloom as their memories would her heart unto eternity. 

The future is before us, and though for a short time the present 
maj' fill our minds; though manhood appears rife with bright 
visions, still the reflection will have place. There is a future beyond 
age, a future beyond the grave. 

The very whispers of the wind have there, 

A silvery flute-like harmony that seems to bear 

Greetings from that bright shore, 

Wliere none have said i^arewell, where no decay 

Lends the faint crimson to the dying day. 

Where the storm's might is o'er. 

How tenderly we touch the tokens of our precious dear ones that 
once gathered around our loved unbroken homes. They are clinging 
sacred little treasures, which when we open a quick gasp gave 
sign of a vitality that seems as if it might be quickened to action, 
as the solitaire diamond of the first water, secured in a gold four 
leaf clover, lay there like a drop of sparkling dew, a diamond of 
exquisite purity, beautifully set within its emerald casket. We 
put the much valued treasure of our departed darling carefully 
aside, and take out a last letter, perhaps, grown yellow with time, 
and open it. A faint fragrance of rose leaves greet our senses, and 
a faded little boquet, with part of its sweetness pressed out, falls 
from the folds of the paper, with a little forget-me-not and a deli- 
cate spray of the cypress vine twined in with the leaves. We fold 
the letter gently again with reverent care, deeper impressed with 
Divine goodness than we had felt for many a day gone by. 

"These cherish'd faded letters. 
That no eye by mine have read; 
And I keep them bound together, 
With a little golden thread." 

We lay each little souvenir to repose, at last dropping a kiss, 
soft and fragrant as a rose leaf, with passionate fervid on their 



IN HIS NAME. 137 



purity, sacredness and quiesence, and there appears to be some- 
thing heavenly and homelike in the atmosphere, whose breath sub- 
dued with sweetness, is laden with the delicate aroma or perfume 
of the hallowed flowers of our loved one gone before. Mingling with 
our fervent offered prayers for our fond, cherished angel, so pure 
and holy, so quiet and tranquil, we breath our petitions of calm 
sunshine and a holy shade of sadness, that give a halo of softness 
to a delicate mezzotint, like a scattering of white rose-bud blooms, 
witn a fret work of azure or a summer's dawn gently wafted on a 
peaceful sea. We honor the footsteps of martyrs, and tread the 
pathway of the holy dead, and are mindful that God noteth and 
will reward for the remembrance of His jewels, as surely as tne 
moon followeth the darksome night. 



PROMENADE CONCERT LEVEE. 

A levee included in the progi-amme commencement exercises. 
W. & J. College. 

Una vo-ce. En masse? 

Twas commencement eve, and the college halls were ablaze, 

In her dazzling beauty resplendent that night, 

As the music dreamily rose and fell; 

And I can see it yet in the moon-beam bright, 

Like shadowly twinkles on a billowy air. 

That rises and falls with its radiant smiles. 

To a music that tloats o'er ray heart once more. 

All, all a dream of commencement eve, musical reception; 

1 remember it well though by-gone and fled; 

With memory's past, and I recall the glad scene. 

How for weeks I had struggled with classics to win. 

With visions imagination of fear or success; 

Clouds of disappointment intermingled with the star of hope' 

gentle ray, 
All these smiled and frowned on our college days. 

And again the musical voices of former colleagues I hear, 
As the moonlight fall on the pavement gray; 
And I can hear their merry laughing melody. 



138 IN HIS NAME. 



in the soft sweet music across the way. 

We had entered then and won, with heads brim full of knowieuge, 

Though fate had seemed our bookish efi'ort all 

To set at stern defiance. 

A college crew, we rowed our little fleet of boats o'er ocean's wave 

beaten shore, 
Right up the hill of Science, we were only private sailors then, 
Obscurity we were wrapped in; 

But when we had served our college course as sucli, 
We each came out a Captain. 

And we packed our traps for our homeward raid at last; 
Recalled to ijiy heart are the warmths of the past. 

And so I go plodding my work-a-day way. 

If such is my fate, why I shall not say nay; 

As a rule I shall take with sentiment bland. 

Whene'er I see something I can't understand, it's a classic. 

Resents, I allude with respect to the same, 

lor some that's cultured is sure to exclaim, it's a classic. 

Tavo students met by chance after a lapse of twenty years, and 
tne following dialogue took place. They were both sons of farmers, 
and in boyhood had enjoyed country life and its district schools, 
and its surroundings, etc. Upon Reginald Burden had been, at close 
of their college days, conferred the degi'ee of D. D., Doctor of Divin- 
ity, and upon Richard Mortimer the degree of LL. D., Doctor of Law. 
The former collegian had entered the university, completed his 
course and entered upon his duties as a clergyman of a largely 
attended church in a fine city. The latter had also finished and 
prepared, and it were conjectured, to enter upon the business of the 
requirements of the law. 

"Well Reginald!" 

"Well, Richard!" 

"Glad to meet my unexpected old college friend of by gone days. 
What have you been doing since we parted?" 

"I am just where I started twenty years ago, Reginald."' 

"Is that so? I am installed in a most beautiful church in a 
large city, and it is a great pleasure to me to be with my parish 
people." 

"That^s nice, Reginald." 
. "Yes, it is indeed. Now, how about yourself?" 

"Well, Reggie, I after rather a long time married ; having 



IN HIS NAME. 139 



finished my readings of legality and hanging out my shingle." 

"That's nice; how did you prosper right along in the future, 
domestically and up-to-date matters in general?" 

"Well, business was quite dull and she did not live very long, 
either." 

"That was bad; sad news." 

"She was wealthy; that is, she owned a fine very valuable 
house in the city." 

"That was nice." 

"Yes, she left it to me." 

"That was nice. Was she a member of church?" 

"Yes she left all her personal securities to it." 

"That was nice." 

"The house took fire and was totally consumed, and the be- 
longings all went too?" 

"That was bad." 

"Yes, it was indeed, and I hadn't it insured; so, Reggie, I am 
about just where I started twenty years ago." 

"You should have become a minister of the Gospel like me, Rich- 
ard, of clerical order, and chosen Divine laws rather than civil laws of 
humanity, and you would never have had cause to regret the right 
step at the top of the ladder leading to heaven, and not to have to 
begin at the bottom of the ladder again of wasted life. It is very 
lovely to be about my Father's business — it far surpasses to me the 
wealth of a kingdom below. 

Crowns and thorns may perish, 

Kingdoms rise and wane; 
But the church of Jesus, 

Constant will remain. 

His reign shall know no end and 'round His pierced feet, 
Fair flowers of Paradise extend their fragrance ever sweet. 
All hail, Redeemer, hail! Thou hast died for me, 
Thy praise and glory shall not fail, throughout eternity. 



140 IN HIS NAME. 



INFIDELITY. 

The unbeliever is spiritually blind. 

"ISeek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you." 
It is only to ask and believe. "Only believe on the Lord Jesus 
Christ and thou shalt be saved. He that asketh receiveth, and to 
him that knocketh it shall be opened unto him." 

"And that every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, 
to the glory of God the Father." 

Oh, why is this darkness permitted to rest, 

In minds that should beam with a heavenly ray; 

O'er those which shovild be the holiest and best, ■ 
With Christ as their Saviour, the light and the wayr 

And why have tiiey forsaken the ark of their Lord, 
When He was their Pilot, 'mid rough seas before them; 

When the storms that pursued them were hushed at His word, 
And the dove with her emblem of peace rested o'er them. 

But now they are tossed on the billowly seas, 

Of quicksand and dangers too nearly a prey; 
And the Arm that would steer them from trials like these, 

And place them in safety they have driven away. 

turn to thy God, for yet He will take 

The helm of thy hopes and would guide them above; 

Those bonds that enslave thee He would joyfully break. 
And shower down His mercy, compassion and love. 

Then turn to the Lord, for why will ye die? 

Avoid the perils that are by Satan begun; 
And place thy reliance more firmly on high, 

Believe in the Father, believe in the Son. 

Oil ye that mock at Christian faith, 

And scorn to trust the inspired Word's pages; 
What passage would ye chose in death. 

Of all the wisdom of your sages? 

Those whose faith unquestioning. 

Trusts the chart of God on storm-tossed billow; 
Finds a joy in pain, and sings, 

Its triupmh on a dying pillow. 



IN HIS NAME. 141 



Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus. 
Wherefore God also hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a name 
which is above every name. That at the name of Jesus every knee 
should bow, of all things, and things in the earth, and things under 
the earth. That every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is 
Lord to the glory of God the Father. Whosoever therefore shall 
confess Me before men, him will I confess also before My Father 
which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny Me before 
men him will I also deny before My Father which is in heaven. 

The wife of a certain man who was an unbeliever in God sud- 
denly became ill unto death, and one in the house where they were 
stop23ing insisted much, desirous that the husband permit them to 
send for their minister to pray for the unbelieving, dying woman, 
but he refused, entreating his wife to be quiet and not worry, 
that she was mistaken, and that there was not anything to fear; but 
she heeded him not in her screamings, Lord keep me from dying. 
He endeavored to hush her terror, saying there was no one, no 
juugTuent, no resurrection, but her soul's eyes were opened and she 
beheld the horror and felt the sting of the unbeliever's doom, and 
she screamed the louder, Lord keep me from dying, and she was 
gone. Gone where? Can the unbeliever answer? Can the worldling 
answer? Can those answer not found worthy among the people of 
God? Careless sinner, what will then become of thee? But to 
^aose who have confessed, loved and served the Lord below. He 
will say. Come near, ye blessed; take the kingdom I bestow; you for- 
ever shall my love and glory know. 

Mistaken! Say not so. Is this a dream? 

Does love once biirning with a fervent flame. 

Die down to ashes and go out forever? 

Has God in His wise ordering of things, 

But mocked us with delusian and pretense? 

And when our loved ones leave us and farewells 

Fall heavy on our sorrow-stricken hearts; 

And hushed the battle music of the strife. 

And in the instant of our poignant pain, 

A sense of heart-breaking loss bears in upon our hopes. 

As some wild wave from out the vasty deep. 

And is nothing left on thy rock bound coast save a sad wreck? 

And shall we say everything is gone, and doubting 

Shall we wrap ourselves in mantled gloom of grief with piteous cry? 

Forbear such unbelieving folly, all within me cries. 



142 IN HIS NAME. 



And may every voice in our good God's vast universal globe 

Kespond. And unnumbered spiritual souls, a radiant throng 

Redeemed and marching onward into eternal life to come. 

Our own, who in triumph on some sunny morn, 

Departed, flinging back their glad Hosannas of victory, 

As conquerors from the battle come; their mortal bodies 

Quiet in the hush of sweet repose, laid down at nightfall 

To eternal rest. A mighty host from time's first breaking day. 

Prophets, priests^ martyred ones, and all the commonality of saints 

Whose happy angel voices echo to our listening ears. 

Life is one and we shall live forever with the Lord, 

Our faith and hope in Him winged us immortal to the skies. 

The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem, the golden above. 

home of fadeless splendor, of flowers that fear no thorn; 

O happy retribution, a mansion with the blest. 

Midst power tljat knows no limit' where wisdom has no bound, 

■j.ue beatific vision shall glad the saints around, 

^nd they that know and see Him, shall have Him for their own; 

Shall behold Him and forever and worships face to face; 

Faith antedates the glorious world to come and whispers of the 

joyous greetings there; 
Let unbelief forbear its mutterings, eternal souls with imdeveloped 

minds. 



EXAMPLE; OR, THE SOPHOMORE TUTOR. 

Exempli gratia. 

It has been proven that brains and intellect have birth in the 
country as well as the more polished city, if developed. Look 
for example at some country youth, possibly at the beginning the 
personification of rustic bashfulness, and you would scarcely believe 
that by and by that very boy is destined to become a courtier, and 
to stand before kings without embarrassment. His story is useful, 
because it evidently shows that a free country like ours gives the 
individual, born in the humblest walk of life an opportunity to 
make his way to the highest. In the rural district where this 
..oy lived there was a school just three months in the year, and 
at this school he acquired the power to read and write. Fortunate- 
ly a certain quickness of perception combined with tact and an un- 
selfish kind nature, attracted the attention of a sophomore student 



IN HIS NAME. 143 



fiorn Harvard College, who officiated during his long winter vacation 
as the tutor of the referred district school. He taught the youthful 
juvenile the rudiments of Latin, and when obliged to return to 
Cambridge at the expiiation of his leave of absence, gave him 
a little library of classical books. This handful of golden grain 
fell upon a rich, hardy soil. The bright scholar had a large fund 
of common sense and his conversation with the student tutor had 
servea to show him the immense advantages conferred by learning, 
when there is practical ability combined with the learning. For 
wisdom is a defense, and money is a defense, but the excellency of 
knowledge is wisdom that giveth life to them that find it. Before 
his friend returned at his next winter's vacation, the pupil had 
acquired so respectable a knowledge of Latin by his unassisted 
laoors that he was deemed fit to commence the study of Greek. 
Another winter's steady application at school enabled him to lay in 
a stock of Greek sufficient to form the foundation for a solitary 
summer's work on Xenonphon and Homer; the poetry of Homer and 
Sophocles afforded him much interest and pleasure. He was the 
youngest and only remaining son of an aged widow, who, although 
poor, was able to allow him time for his favorite pursuits, and he 
encountered no opposition at home. He was accustomed on fine 
summer days to take his books under his arm and repair to a shady 
nook, overhung with alders, which dipped their branches in a 
sparkling brook; and there revel in the beauties of those classical 
poets Avho have left the most graphic description of rural scenery. 
It is not very wonderful that when at the expiration of the third 
winter his friend carried him off, and established Iiim as a student 
at Cambridge, he should become distinguished for originality, 
punctuality, industry and refinement of taste. Once at college and 
recognized as a studious and talented youth, his fortune was safe. 
En,ergy, sound sense, and the liberal encouragement which the 
government of that rich institution are able to bestow on deserv- 
ing scholars were sufficient to carry him forward to the end of his 
academical course, without taxing the scanty resources of his 
momer. Learning, once made popular, is no longer learning, it has 
the appearance of something which we have bestowed upon our- 
selves, as the dew appears to rise from the field which it refreshes. 
A man's genius is always in tlie beginning of life, as much un- 
known to himself as to others, and it is only after frequent trials 
attended with success that he dares consider himself equal to 
those undertakings in which those who have succeeded have fixed 
the admiration of mankind. Noble acts desire to T)e placed in 
the light, but notwithstanding this, the greatest theatre for virtue 



144 IN ms NAME. 



IS conscience. In 'youth natuie is then as a magnificent picture; 
the affections of the heart a dream of love, with hopes bouyant as 
a sprmg morning, and full of that animation and romantic delight 
which care to look on the sunny side of things. When attendant 
on green spots and sunny knolls, on scenes and on persons which 
endeared life, which awaken thoughts that do often lie too deep 
for tears, and- pleasant remembrances of what hath been, never to 
be again; too fair to be pondered on except on a bright holiday. 
Ihe past, once the young present, how serene and beautiful are 
those oft recalled days to us. In our mind's mirror we view them, 
but with a fainter tinge than when they shone with life's refulgent 
ray. The birds singing in the fields, and the wayside traveler trod- 
ding his way whistling in vacant joyfulness of heart. The sythe of 
time makes changes and dreadful havoc. The high hearted, passionate 
stripling becomes transformed into the sallow valetudinarian; the 
almost penniless youth into the man of substance. The old pass 
away like a tale that is told; the mature at last bend under 
the weight of years; boy's jocund thoughtfulness gives pTace to the 
furrowing of care. How this collegian attracted the attention of a 
great statesman and lawyer when he won the first prizes of oratory 
and composition in his senior year; how he became the great man's 
business partner; how he went to Congress and made a distinguished 
figure; how he was appointed charge of a foreign court, and traveled 
at the expiration of his term of office to the four quarters of 
the world; is it not written in the books of the chronicles of this 
great republic where the people are kings. He entered college at an 
earlier age than that of the average of his class, and was graduated 
before he was nineteen. When not twenty-one he was honored 
with the post-graduate degree of INIaster of Artn, and not very 
long afterward his Alma Mater bestowed upon him the highest 
possible academic distinction, that of Doctor of Laws, or LL. D., 
an honor rarely tendered to any but distinguished men of highest 
attainments and unquestioned personal worth, with sterling honor, 
of broad mind, of liberal view, of wide public information, of great 
business capacity, a parlimentarian, satisfactory to men of recog- 
nized ability and high personal and political character, and no 
be'tter evidence could be had as to his reputation for impartiality 
and fidelity to the principles of justice. This self-made collegian, 
with all his success and promotion had never been puffed up 
into an arrogant, self-sufficient upstart. He had too much sense, 
composed of substance and solidity, for that. He retained the 
original sterling simplicity of character with which he started in 
his brilliant career. He goes now to shoot the partridges and 



IN HIS NAME. 145 



gray squirrels every summer in the woods where lie studied the 

Georgies, and to catch trout in the same brook on whose banks 

he used to recline, pouring over the Fous Bandusiae of Horaces 

and all the village peasants and rustic artisans in the neighborhood 

declare that their native visitor is as nice a fellow as ever he 

was and not one bit proud. 

On recalling boyhood's days, ponders this soliloquy: 

Oh memory, how it thrills my heart, on looking back on boyhood's 

chart, 
I see the home where youth was passed, those sunny days to sweet 

to last ; 
The flowers that on my pathway grew, the birds that singing by me 

flew ; 
The church that on the green hill-side was mirror'd in the 

streamlet's fishing tide ; 
The shady nook where oft I went and studiously passed 
My hours till day was spent. 
The mountain side where void of care, I've roused the squirrel from 

his laire, 
And made the forest ring with glee, as seated on some giant tree, 
I set snare for some small game, as darting through our woodland 

came. 
These by-gone days come thronging to my mind, and though they're 

past I now find. 
The happiest moments ever I knew are gone, and vainly do I rue, 
Tliat they have passed so soon away, like rainbow's tints at set 

of day. 
As o'er a bright and rapid rill, a self-enamored rose was bending, 
A loveliness more lovely still, the waters to her image bending; 
An envious gust with iiithless power, of all her leaves despoiled 

the ffower; 
Her leaves the brooklet's mirror strewed, o'er w-hlch they smiled 

so sweet before;. 
The brook its heedless path pursued; they passed and were beheld 

no more; 
And thus, alas, without a stay, the bloom of boyhood flits away. 

The rare jewel, the "pearl of great price," a tiny pocket Bible his 
mother gave him, he had carried from the beginning and failed not 
to examine upon arising and upon retiring of each day. He care- 
fully preserved it through life as a precious little keepsake. He read 
gladly its sacred pages when day's flush merges into sunset's bars. 
"When night came his mind soared away beyond the stars, where per- 



146 IN HIS NAME. 

feet light flooded his soul, and he knew that He who supported the 
trembling wing of the lone dove and guided her in safety over 
whelming waters where no dry land appeared, can keep him and 
his, even until the end. 

The extreme of wealth or poverty have generaiiy a modifying 
influence in the formation of the character, the one by cramping tiie 
energies, in denying those things necessary to their full develop- 
ment and the other by too frequently taking away the will to 
bring out in their full force, though there are some, who stimulated 
perhaps, by the noble example and wholesome teaching of a parent, 
have permitted neither the barriers, and oftentimes vlciovis associa- 
tions or the former, nor the enfeebling luxuries of the other to hinder 
the full expression of their better impulses. WJien one has grown 
up with every correct principle strengthened by habit, and by the 
influence of pure associations, no after vicissitudes of wealth or 
poverty or sej^aration from friends, or country, can destroy the 
character thus formed. The friendships formed in youth ranic 
next 23erhaps to the influence of home in either formrng new traits 
of character or altering or confirming these already springing up. 
We become attached to our true Christian friends, because we 
sympathize with them. We like their habits, their principles of 
action, and liking these, we naturally copy their example, and in- 
corporate their sentiments with our own, and the taste of sentiments 
acquired from this intercourse of those we .mingle with have either a 
refining and elevating tendency or an influence of the reverse 
character. Hear counsel and receive instruction, that thou mayest 
be wise in thy latter end. 

"The child is father to the man;'" "'Just as the twig is bent 
the tree inclined." There are probably forty proverbs to the 
same eff'ect suggested, yet how few reduce the doctrine to practice. 
A man makes a fortune by persevering labor and self-denial, and 
brings up his sons in idleness and self-indulgence. He preaches all 
his lifetime the importance of educating children in such a man- 
ner as to enable them to make their own way in the world; and 
then educates his own as if each one was to inherit his father's 
estate. We admit that discipline, exact and punctilious discipline, 
is absolutely necessary to make a scholar, a soldier, an artist, a 
musician; but we forget that discipline is also necessary to make 
a man. And there is still an example far, far above tliese. or any 
known as having existed. It is the blessed Jesus. Who ever 
possessed the talent, discipline, wisdom and nobility He did? None. 
He is as superior to earthly mortality as gold may be compared 
to brass. All creation sinks into insignificance at His appearing. 



IN HIS NAME. l^'^ 



and He only givetli us the power to become great and wise unto 
salvation. Accuracy enters into action as well as thought and 
into speech. In action we are apt to call it thoroughness, because 
doing what we wish to accomplish in our daily duties accurately and 
nicely in every point with nothing unfinished or untidy, but neat 
and methodical necessarily involves thoroughness, however large or 
small the work may be. It may also be admitted that one keep 
clean is worth a dozen make cleans. If we allow ourselves to be in- 
accurate in the minor details of action, if we leave the ends of 
inreads hanging from our sewing, or turn the corners diflerent ways 
in hemming a square handkerchief, spread the cover on a table 
hastily without minding whether the corners hang even or not, 
go to a closet or drawer for pieces and thrust the bundle in with 
the expression, "I will come and put them to rights by and by," 
to be careless or neglectful of beginning the day with God by of- 
fering up a prayer of thankfulness for preservation and divme 
protection during the day as well as the past night, and in also 
reading a portion of the Sacred Word, thus partaking of spiritual 
food for our soul, before satisfying our bodies with the temporal 
blessings. He loadeth our tables. Are we not haunted by a feeling 
of reoret, or of shiftlessness, of wishing to go back and begin over 
•i-ain" or that those moments we wasted in trifling should have 
been 'sacredlv occupied in religious devotion? A feeling so much 
out of proportion to the actual carelessness seems to follow us 
that we are forced to confess and acknowledge that inaccuracy is 
not a triflino- fault. The same conscience condemns us .when, after 
tellino' a story, in which we consider an entertaining way, for 
the edification of a friend, some one present would forthwith 
proceed to take the point oflF our tale by presenting it without the 
adornment with which we had endeavored to make it attractive. 
That one can be silenced by being told not to interrupt the person 
who began first speaking, but conscience does not so easily excuse, 
and if we have not from our inner knowledge related our tale 
with correctness, we feel again that there ic something wrong. 
How then shall we set the wrong right? We find it comparatively 
easy to say to ourselves, "Oh I have a general idea of the matter, 
and when I have time I will thinl. it out." But it is not so easy to 
take a concrete portion of the general idea and study it out 
carefully and yet by so doing the smaller conception becomes com- 
pletely our own, ready for use in any emergency, while the genera 
-notion is so large and so very general that we actually never find 
time to think it out, and thus does not become our own at all. 
The power of moral suasion proceeds from a virtuous example, and 



148 IN HIS NAME. 



the beauty of a lioly life constitutes the most eloquent and effective 
persuasion to religion which can be addressed to another. We 
have many ways of doing good to our fellow creatures, but none 
probably so efficacious as leading a virtuous, upright life. There 
is an energy of moral suasion in a real Christian life, passing 
the highest efforts of the orator's genius. We can In numerous 
ways perform acts and deeds of goodness for our gi-atitude to 
our Creator, still we cannot call ourselves good for only one can 
be caljed good, that is God, and He makes us the instruments and 
agents of advancing His kingdom in the beauty of His goodness, 
and every Christian ought to be beautiful. The features may 
always correspondf to the spirit; for have you never known Chris- 
tians Avho have nothing of what is called beauty, yet whose faces 
are usually so pleasant to j'ou because you love them for their 
virtue, for we find that makes the face pleasant, pTeasanter, perhaps, 
than beauty would make it. It is moral suasion with its nobler 
deeds, that makes the spirit beautiful, and it is with our spirit we 
love it. There are some flowers whose colors and shapes are not 
beautiful, but their perfume is so delightful that they are general 
favorites. Beauty, mere outward beauty, is of no account. It is, 
for itself alone, neither to be coveted nor loved. The sweet frag- 
rance of the homely shrub corresponds to that influence of moral 
suasion, which draws our love towards those who have no out- 
ward beauty. Such persons will appear in heaven in all the 
beauty of Jesus' loveliness. And it is there that our idea will 
be realized. There all that is virtuous and beautiful in spirit 
is of the most perfect beauty. A religion that never suffices to 
save others, is affective religion. That which does not distinguish 
a man from a wicked world, will never distinguish him from a 
perishing world. An ungrateful, selfish person, no matter what 
an amount of beauty in themselves their pride revels in, is not 
an object of acceptance to God. We ought to thank Him for all 
things — let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. How 
gootl God is, the Giver. Some say, bleak, dreary winter, you are an 
unwelcome visitor. No, no, the Christian replies to the unthankful 
quotation, it is the restorer of a tired earth; the benediction of an 
autumn passed; the overture of coming spring. Beneath the snow 
and ice next spring" and summer are at work. The forces in nature's 
great reservoir are preparing to bless us with another golden har- 
vest, and to lay us under new obligations to God, to be more active 
than ever in well doing. Winter at times reigns a de.spot, not, 
however, in the tropics, for in these snow does not fall, rain falls 
instead. Ice in Greenland is universal nearly all the year; but 



IN HIS NAME. 149 



tiie sailors in our navy call it a luxury at Chili. In our country 
we see winter generally with rare exceptions in his temperate 
moods. What funny pictures he stamps upon our bedroom 

windows. What a pyramid of ice he builds under the village pump 
spout. How he hangs glistening icecles from the eaves of our houses 
and barns and makes a lloor of ice which gives joy to merry skaters. 
In all this the brightened spirit within lifts its thoughts above and 
exclaims, Oh, that men would , praise the Lord for His goodness, 
and for His wonderful works to the children of men. The seen 
but silent beauty of holiness speaks more eloquently of God and 
duty than the tongue of angels and men. An excellent inheritance 
for a parent to bequeath to a child is a virtuous example, a 
legacy, of hallowed remembrances and associations. The beauty of 
holiness beaming through the life of a loved father, mother, relation 
or a near and dear friend is never more effectual to strengthen 
such as do stand in virtue's ways, and raise up those that are 
bowed down, than precept command, entreaty, expostulation or 
warning. Christianity itself owes by far the greatest part of 
its power of moral suasion, not to the precepts or parables of 
Christ, but to His own character. The beauty of that holiness which 
is enshrined in the four brief biographies of the Man of Nazareth 
has done more to regenerate the world and bring in everlasting 
righteousness than all the other agencies put together, accomplish- 
ing more to spread the gospel of Christ and increase religion than all 
that has ever been written or preached on the evidences of 
Christianity. The straight gate is wide enough to admit any sin- 
ner, but too narrow to admit any sin. If we are firm in our 
duties and resigned in our trials, the wind and waves may beat 
against our rock planted in a troubled sea, but it remains fortified 
and unmoved, and we continue stationary at our post and our prin- 
ciples shine forth unmolested and undisturbed and unobserved. 
There is a glory and a triumph that we conquered. Our bright, 
virtuous example of mora] suasion will be to the world what the 
light-house is to the mariner upon a sea-shore. It will guide others 
to the point of safety. Two things we should be thankful for and 
express our appreciation to God; first, that our precious Saviour 
died for us, sinners; second, that Jesus Christ is an all-sufficient 
atonement for our redemption and salvation unto holiness. What 
a privilege to possess God in all things while we have them; and 
all things in God when they are taken from us. May every one 
respond to the beautiful voice of the blessed Jesus, that in the 
spirit cries — Come. What a trembling thing it would be to be at 
last — out of the Ark. What more glorious is a whole family in 



150 IN HIS NAME. 



heaven, not one left out? How deeply sad it would be otherwise. 
This is a solemn reflection. How each will exultingly rejoice that 
is granted to "Come ye blessed ■ of My Father." Inside the gate of 
heaven, even without harp or crown, but adorned in the robe of our 
Lord's righteousness saved, and be where Jesus lives, surpasses all 
earthly honors. Even to be least where all are great, is to be 
great. God is the Creator of all mankind. He is the Father of 
them who obey and follow Him, they being His cliiidren who walk 
in the light of God and bring their deeds to the light that they may 
be made manifested to the world, as a city set on a hill. Isaiah 
XX: 22. The children of darkness hide secretly theid deeds because 
they are evil and they fear man, and their doom, and not God, and 
there is a gi'eat gulf fixed between them and the godly. He call- 
eth them workers of iniquity, and saith, "Depart, I know ye not." 
He hath no "well done" welcome for them, but separates the blessed 
wheat from the wicked tares, for their unquenchable eternity. He 
is their Maker. He is their final Judge of His own law. And we 
are to be doers of His law. He is our Pleader and our Vindiettor, 
and He knoweth the secrets and evil deeds and He only rightly re- 
compenses the evil doer. See Him as a little child. See Him as a 
youth, conversing with professional men of learning wlio were 
astonished at His marvelous ability, wisdom and doctrine, and were 
dumb before Him. His power proved His superiority over all 
men. Never before had they been present before such an all pene- 
trating Judge, youthful in age and statue, though existing before 
the foundation of the world. Yea, the angels in heaven proclaim 
in sweet anthems His greatness and glory. Life and death lay 
in His hands. Earth and heaven are His, and all created beings 
were made for His pleasure and partakers of His kingdom. May 
His transparent example follow us through life, and on through 
the depths of eternity's ages, where a thousand years are as 
but yesterday in His sight. In Him we breathe, live and have our 
being, and through His death and rarest recorded self-sacrifice we 
are made children of His everlasting rest that remaineth for the 
people of God. To Him let every knee bow in heartfelt reverence, 
and all creation acknowledge Him Lord of all. 



IN HIS NAME. l-'l 



OUR ACADEMY; OR, MY STUDENT CHUM. 

When I was seventeen years old I was committed to the care of 
a clergyman, at an academy, in one of the most delightful sitmitions 
in Massachusetts. My student chum was deeply versed in classics 
and mathematics, but profoundly ignoraint of the world. For the 
rest, he was of mild temper and amiable manners, and although 
somewhat of a disciplinarian in school hours, he was often our com- 
panion and occasionally our play-fellbw for the remainder of the 
day. At every other school where I had been placeu, learning was 
a labor to me, and it was, consequently, of slow and irksome acquire- 
ment; but under Mr. Linton it became a pleasure. Many a time 
during the summer months he would take us, (there were twelve 
boys, including myself, who attended our academy), out upon a 
lawn which fronted the study and commanded a rich and varied 
extent of country, and there hear our classical lessons -under the 
shadow of a magnificent oak; and so much was the scene in ac- 
cordance with the subject of our studies, that I could almost 
fancy myself in the midst of that Arcadia which the bard of 
Mantua so sweetly sung. Well I remember too after we had con- 
strued the prescribed quantum of the Aeneid, our revered preceptor 
would read the corresijonding portion in Dryden's translation, which 
was an old folio edition, and exhibit to our delighted vision 
pictorial illustrations of that beautiful fable. Many years have 
passed away since that volume closed upon my eyes for the last 
time„ but i seem to have at this moment vividly before them 
the print of the wooden horse with the javelin of Laocoon in its 
ribs; and I believe I could accurately trace upon the paper before 
me the circumlocutions of these referred serpents on the limbs of the 
uevoted priest and his sons, as depicted faithfully no doubt in 
the engraving. Again the representation of the shipwreck of 
Aeneas" mth all its minutae of detail, the visible winds breaking 
ao-ainst' their cheeks, and the rari nantes in gurgite vasto, appear to 
nty mind's eye, similar to personal reality. In the intervals between 
the hours of study we were allowed much liberty and were wont to 
explore the enchanting country around us in every direction. O 
those delightful woods in which we have gathered nuts and wild 
flowers and strawberries; and the spacious park of which the owner 
so kindly and generously permitted us the range, where we were 
accustomed to pick up chestnuts, the castanese molles, which we 
seemed to relish the better because Virgil had given us a classical 
name for them. 



152 IN HIS NAME. 



This play-place of boyhood was graven on my heart, 
In rare paradise colors that now must depart; 
The old school house is in decay, the fair vision is fled. 
And I weep o'er its wreck as I do for the dead. 

Unclouded one shone Hope's Ijrilliant beam. 
With bright celestial ray; 
And like a lovely fairy dream 
Boyhood's hours flew away. 

Ah yes, they flew, those happy hours, 
Bright blossoms quickly fade; 
And the sweet dreams of boyhood, 
Are all too soon decayed. 

They cannot last, but memory remains. 
To tell of pleasure fled; 
.And little things that then were as naught. 
But now will be our all. 

Days, months and years, that long have passed, 
And the scenes that seem forgot, 
^ Rush through the mind like meteor light, 

As we linger on the spot. 

Those were indeed happy days and I thought them such at 
the time; so happy that I was a rare instance of a youth quitting 
school, if the world, on which I was about to enter, would 
afford me an equivalent for the peaceful pleasures that I 
was called upon to resign. Dil tempo felice nella miseria. Ex- 
perience, long, bitter and sad experience, confirmed my misgivings; 
and now, "post tot naufragia," having anchored in the haven of 
domestic happiness, I often look upon the young and bright and 
innocent countenances which are smiling around me, and sigh to 
think that they are doomed to gather of the same tree, and 
It may be to find the fruit as bitter as I did. may the young 
who are enjoying the sanctuary of a paternal home, or the guardian- 
ship of kind and competent instructors, who in a worldly sense 
have no thought for to-morrow to disquiet our minds; who have 
a ready balm for every wound, and the truest sympathy for every 
sorrow in thy mother's prayers and caresses. I would not cast 
tne gloom of foreboding over your future path. I would not check 
one youthful hope, or repress one generous aspiration: but rather I 



IX HIS NAME. 153 



would guard you, that when you leave the sequestered walks 
in which you are now treading into the highways of the world, you 
w'ill see many gorgeous and tempting flo\Yers about your path; 
but you wiii find none of them so sweet as those which sprang up 
in the quiet valley of home or academic retirement. 

If in the mazes of by-gone days, ere on this earth we trod, to 
us were given to read the magic scroll of coming fate and scrutinize 
the fixed decrees of heaven: whilst on our startled gaze appeared the 
measure dealt out to man below of pain and pleasure, 'morceati de 
salon." 

When after years of toil and pain, we greet some well known 
spot again. 

Where boyhood's years have passed away, as bright, as brief as 
summer day, 

Where field and brook, and bush and tree, recall bj'-gone scenes of 
mirth and glee, 

And every flower that woes the blast seems fragrant of happy by- 
gone days past. 

We dwell not on the care, the strife, the trials of severer life, 
±he cherished few who cheered our way, now mouldering with their 

kindred clay; 
The loves grown cold, the friendship's lost, the views the wishes 

blighted crossed, 
Ambition's longings unfurled; fond aspirations yet unstilled. 

Hopes that seemed of heavenly birth, but which scarce formed, 

were dashed to earth, 
For one short space are all forgot," save the bygone genius of the 

spot. 
And often memory wanders to those by-gone happy days, 
Wlien Hope's sunbeams shone brightly and lit our path with golden 

rays. 

But those day's were short and fleeting, fleeting as earth's brightest 

flower, 
Dving e'en of very sweetness, in the summer's gladsome hours; 
By-gone days, oh, do not quite forget them; often dream them o'er 

again, 
WHien the h^art is torn and bleeding, this perhaps will lull the pain. 

"Tis a power high, eternal, breaks the happy, blissful spell, 
Let no murmuring wish awaken for He doeth all things well; 



154 IN HIS XAME. 



Though I'm dreaming, wildly dreaming, of the buried by-gone time, 
And its death-note lingers round me in a sacred funeral chime. 

No more your spreading mossy sward, tliis wayward wandering 

foot may press, 
Nor in your great shadow trace nature's unwritten loveliness 
That smiled at early morn and met 
My footsteps when the sun had set. 

And you, ye fragrant flowers that grew around tlie crystal foun- 
tain's rim, 
And stooping o'er it seemed to view your virgin images within; 
While from above each pearly star, 
iSniiled on ye from its home afar. 

And thou, old cottage, in whose calm and quiet shade I used to 

sleep. 
And found in boyhood's dream a balm for ills that else had made 

me weep; 
Ihough Father Time hath mossed thy jiortals o'er. 
Still thou art lovely as of yore. 

Farewell, my loved, my native home, within thy calm and quiet 
breast. 

Kindred and friends now cease to roam, enjoy thy sacred peace- 
ful rest ; 

Ay, sleep away the silent years. 

Unconscious both of grief and tears. 

All, all, farewell, no more the J03- of earthly years can cheer my 

heart, 
The scenes that blessed the careless boy, and were of very life 

a part, 
Must pass away for those more new. 
Which open to my wandering view. 

Six things are requisite to create a happy home. Integrity must 
be the architect, and neatness the upholsterer. It must be warmed 
by affection, and lighted up with the love-light of cheerfulness, and 
industry must be the ventilator, renewing the atmosphere and 
bringing in fresh salubrity day by day, while over all, as a pro- 
tecting glory and canoi>y, nothing will suffice except the blessing 
of God. It is ascertained by the sunny joyous present that sped 



IN HIS NAME. 155 



so quick away, when we would have endeavored hard to lengthen 
out its joys and bid Time's hand to stay. Boyhood's joys are too 
sweet to last : its hopes bloom' but to die. On recalling boyhood's 
day we jjonder, but the daily duties in life's pathway urge us 
onward move, and leave the happy present and the darksome past, 
with all its changing scenes and clouded observations, buried in 
the repose of fond memory's urn. And those severed lives deplored 
will one day once more be linked in love. It is not much 
that the world can give with all its subtle art; and 
gold and gems are not enough to satisfj' the heart. But, oh 
if those who cluster 'round the altar and the hearth have gentle 
words and loving smiles, how beautiful they make earth. A home 
full of gentleness, how beautiful. Call it a home-life picture of a 
happy family, the , dear one^ of the domestic little group linked 
closely together from morn till eve, nothing but gentleness. The 
fair, balmy, fragrant suavity of gentleness is all prevading. The 
fruit of the Spirit is gentleness. When we read the marvelous story 
of false witnessing against our blessed Jesus, we have for our 
inspection a picture of gentleness. "Jesus held his peace.'" May 
God grant that this perfect peace of mind and gentleness of our 
adorable Redeemer may be imparted fully to each of us, and ab 
grace is given; may it prove a tested blessing in life's trials, amid 
the world's wild tumult, strong in the strength which God sup- 
plies, through His eternal Son. The aii- of generosity renders 
gentleness most beautiful to those that hold it most dear. In 
life's tasks, each day usually presents two handles, one rough, the 
other smooth; the gentle way is the easiest mode, whether the 
duty be pleasant or difficult. Some may do so dexterously, while 
OLiiers the same evident labor with impatience, void of the symbol 
of the refined inner grace that the chosen few ^wssess. 

"What is tne past, with its changing sky. 

And its life of yesterday? 

Grasping the stars that it may not die, 

With its feet on the trodden clay; 

Moulding the soul for Time's great test, 

To prove the lights were true. 

Diamonds delved from the mountain blest. 

That the world might wear it on its careless breast. 

The gems of the chosen few. 

At a short distance from the place in which our school was 
situated, and in a delightful and romantic woodland district, there 



156 IN HIS NAME. 



was a little hamlet, consisting of some six or seven humble cottages. 
The smallest, although the neatest of these was the dwelling of a 
widow, whose name was Sterrett, and her daughter May. From 
the superior manners of Mrs. Sterrett, it was conjectured that she 
had once filled a more elevated station in society. The occupation 
of herself and daughter being at the period of which I write, that 
of embroidery-making, exquisitelj^ done, by which, as they found a 
ready sale for their manufactures among the neighboring gentry, 
they were enabled to glean a modest, although with reference to 
their limited wants, a competent maintenance. Now, among my 
school-fellows there was one young gentleman at our academy, be- 
tween wliom and myself there existed a warm friendship. He was 
an orphan, but was under the guardianship of an uncle, and heir 
to considerable property. Fred McKennan, at the age of nineteen, 
was one of the finest youths I ever beheld, and his very handsome 
person was set off by elegance, but at the same time with neatness of 
dress. Methinks I see him' now as then with his dark luiir curling 
over a forehead on vvhich the seal of intellect was set as plainly 
as the finger of the Creator upon tlie face of nature. His family \. 
connections were of the first order, and as Lear styled himself 
every inch a king, so was Fred every inch a gentleman. There 
was nothing vulgar in either his mind or his manners; he was 
open and generous, and although very mild in disposition, he was 
as brave as a lion. Many a time when the aggression of what we 
termed the town boys, although there weire not twenty houses 
in the place, provoked us beyond the power of endurance, has he 
led us to vietofy against superior numbers. He was, in fact, a hero, 
a very beau-ideal of a school fellow. It happened that one Saturday 
afternoon, it being a holiday, Fred McKennen and I had gone on a 
fishing e.xcursion, and were watching out floats with intense interest, 
(as we sat pensively gazing upon the blue sky ,and tumbling waves 
of the emerald lake), having chanced upon a shoal of perch, when 
our attention was diverted by a loud laugh, proceeding* from a 
path which intersected a meadow about a hundred yards from the 
bank of the water. There's that ruffianly fellow, Buzz, the gard- 
ner's son, exclaimed Fred, cannot find any better empToyment than 
tormenting that poor girl, wlio if T mistnke not, is May Sterrett. 
the cmbroider-maker. Hallo, continued McKennan, raising his voice 
and addressing the boy, who was proceeding to be still more rude, 
be so obliging as to let that young woman alone, or I will acquaint 
your father with your conduct. The boy replied with a laugh, and 
persisted in his annoyance. Charlie Macrae, said my chum compan- 
ion, w'e must never stand this; and vet there is not work enough for 



IN HIS NAME. 157 



two of us, though the fellow scarcely deserve s fair play. Please mind 
my rod, while I go and try to rid the poor girl of this cowardly 
rough. Fred was making his way to a gate, which opened into the 
meadow, but an outcry from May, almost blinded by the fine gravel 
the unmanly boy had scattered towards her eyes, altered his pur- 
pose, and he immediately leaped the fence, with the agility of a 
deer, and the boy found himself sprawling upon the grass before 
he was well aware of the presence of his antagonist. McKennan 
then approached the frightened May, and with a grace peculiar 
to him, offered the protection of his arm, and walked oflf with her 
in the direction of her cottage, which was about half a mile from 
the field of action. Presently I saw him come running back, 
Dounding over every obstacle in his way, with an activity which 
indicated an exuberance of spirits, produced by the excitement of 
the scene in which he had performed so conspicuous and manly a 
part. When he came up to me his only observation was, after 
taking out his gold watch and ascertaining that the en- 
tire interval occupied fully thirty-seven minuses, Charlie, May 
Sterrett is a much more refined and genteel girl than I had any 
idea she was. But I could perceive that my school chum, although 
he had gained a victory, had lost his heart. From that time Fred 
McKennan, although on every other point was as open towards me 
as ever, was cautiously reserved upon the subject of that afternoon's 
adventure, but whenever May's naimie was mentioned I could discern a 
kindling in his eye and a general lighting up of his not)Ie countenance, 
which he had not the art to disguise. But Fred's reserve upon this 
point did him infinite honor. Young as he was, he had discretion 
sufficient to feel convinced that the difference between the stations 
of May and himself was such that any indication of his predicament 
could not but induce animadversion and animosity and perhaps great- 
er annoyance upon its subject. It was not very long afer this oc- 
currence that I was strolling by myself one beautiful summer after- 
noon, rather between twilight and evening, when I was startled by 
the voice of a female singing within a few paces of me. It was a sim- 
ple and somewhat melancholy air, but was poured forth with such 
sweetness, and there was such touching pathos in its cadences that 
nothing I have sinse heard of the sublime or scientific in music has 
ever penetrated so deeply into my heart. I advanced a few yards in- 
to the woods by which I was surrounded, and from a position in 
which I was myself unseen, obtained a view of the singer. It was May 
Sterrett. I had approached the cottage before I was aware of it, 
an inadvertence which, from the wooded situation of the little 
village with its small cluster of houses, I was very likely to 



158 IN HIS NAME. 



fall into. .She was sitting in front of the cottage, in the midst of 
a llower garden, with her feet upon a low stool, and the snowy 
white najjkin on which siie was making embroidery spread upon her 
knee, while the household dog, which was crouching beside her 
was watching, with pricked up ears and eager eyes, the swift 
movement of her fingers as she cast her stitches. The front of the 
cottage was nearly covered with shrubbery and trellis and around her 
were flowers in great profusion and variety; but she was the loveliest 
blossom of mem all. .She was apparently about seventeen. I have 
seen beauty adorned spreading out every lure to fix the gaze of 
foppish wonder and to draw the incense of adulation from the lips 
of the tlattercr. where every attitude was studied and every smile 
a counterfeit, and I have sighed to reflect that vanity should de- 
form what lienvc'ii li:ul made so lovely. l!ut here was beauty 
unadorned, natural and powerful in repose; conscious of no luunun 
gaze and with no incense arovmd her but the innocent breath of 
...e flowers, which filled the place, and consecrated by her 
presence, appeared to be emanations of her loveliness. How sweet 
and refreshing were the breezes which swept across the fertile valley, 
stretching to the feet of the lofty Sotith Downs. What an expanse 
of view; wliat brightness and clearness of atmos]»here and serenity; 
what calm; what comforts. IIow slie hailed always tlu^ apin'oach of 
spring with delight; for the long weary winter no doubt at length 
wore away and the warm breath of gentle spring unloosed the 
mountain torrents from their icy chain; the rocky glens echoed once 
more with the joy of waves. The snow wreaths melted before the 
influence of the sunbeams; and the earth, though perhaps tardily. 
l)ut oil' her snowy vest and came forth like a bride decked with 
fresh flowers. In early yo>ith there is a buoyancy in the mind 
which grief cannot entirely subdue, and which inclines us to seize 
\vith eagerness every glimjisc of joy that presents itself in our ])ath. 

That happy gleam of vernal brown eyes, 

Those locks from summer's golden skies 

That o'er thy fair brow are shed; 

Those cheeks a kindling of the morn; 

That lip a rose-bud from the thorn. 

I saw, and fancy sped to scenes Arcadian, whispering through the 

soft air, 
Of bliss that grows without a care; of happiness that never flies, 
How can it be where love never dies; of promises whispering wiiere 

no blight, 
Can reach the innocent delight; where pity to the mind conveyed, 



IN HIS NAME. 159 



In pleasure is the darkest shade, that Time, uuwiiukled grand- 
sire flings, 
From his smoothly gilding wings. 
What mortal form, what eartlily face, ins^nred the pencil lines to 

trace, 
And mingle colors that could breed such rapture, nor want power 

to feed. 
Fair maiden, no idle flower has been thy mind, or to truth and 

sober reason blind, 
;Mid that soft air and pretty rose-bower my sweet illusion might 

have hung for hours; 
Life's daily tasks that touchingly bespeaks thee born. 
Do weigh the blessings they entreat from heaven and feel what 

they repeat. 
While she give utterance to the prayer, that asks for daily bread. 

Perhaps I gazed upon May under the excitement of feelings that 
the romantic scene in which I found her, and the susceptible tem- 
perament of youth were calculated to inspire; or it may be that 
at this distance the mellow tints of time have fallen upon the 
picture, and I have overcharged the description; and yet, me- 
thinks it was impossible to do so. The spell of her beauty was 
upon me, and I know not how long I might have remained under 
its influence, had I not attracted the notice of May's faithful dog, 
which flew barking toward my covert, and I was compelled to make 
a precipitate retreat. It was some few weeks after this oc- 
currence that on the evening of a very sultry day. May and her 
friend Carrie Despard, w^ho were sitting at work in the little garden 
which I have already described enjoying a soft reviving breeze had 
sprung up in the afternoon, while Mrs. Sterrett, as trim as could 
possibly be imagined, and the model of a tidy home-matron, was 
cheerfully engaged in some domestic concerns within doors. Now 
May was a very excellent young woman, and was most affectionately 
attached to her friend; but in virtue of her seniority, she being a 
whole year the elder, she was wont occasionally to assume the office 
of a mentor, and to give May the benefit of her more extended ex- 
perience. May had been relating to her friend the gallant behavior 
of Fred McKennan in the adventure of the meadow, and when 
she had concluded her naiTation, Carrie observed, upon my word. 
May, you are very eloquent in the young gentleman's praise. I 
should be very ungrateful, replied May, if I were not. Well, well, 
said her friend, with a ringing, girlish laugh, I would not have you 
ungrateful, INIay. He is a kind youth and a gallant, I will allow, 
and it is probable that any one possessed with like qualities would 



100 IN HIS NAME. 



nave done a* much for you, and lie doubtless would have performed 
tlie Slims for any other young woman who had been placed in a 
similar predicament. Oh, yes, that he would, exclaimed May, he 
is far too generous to make any distinctions where his humanity is 
concerned. Indeed, May, continued her friend, you seem to have 
acquired a wonderful insight into his noble qualities upon a very 
Mrief acquaintance. But perhaps your introduction to him is of 
earlier date than the notable achievement which appears, in your 
estimation, to have elevated him into a hero. Well, Carrie, rejoined 
May, whatever opinion others may entertain upon the subject it 
does not become me to undervalue the appreciated service he has 
tendered me; but 1 assure you I never saw him before, although 
I' could not go in a cottage in the village without hearing of Fred 
McKennan. You, yourself, known well enough how charitable and 
generous he is to the poor, and tliat not a month since, when the 
widow Clark's liorse fell into the mill-run and was drowned, he 
raised a subscription among his school-fellows to buy another for 
her, and put down ten dollars towards it himself. His virtues are 
not likely to remain a secret for want of a trumpeter to proclaim 
them, said Carrie, that is very certain. He seems to have engaged 
a very zealous one, and, lU) doubt, has ira})roved the acquaintance 
to which his valor introduced him. How absurdly you talk, replied 
May, somewhat iim.patiently ; >'ou know, or if you do not, you may 
ask my mother and she will tell you that hehas never been within our 
garden gate. Because he is tall enough to look over it, my dear, 
said Carrie, dryly. And pray, when and how often does he honor 
you with a visit? I know not if you can correctly call it a visit, 
Carrie, answered May; but I think we usually see him on a 
Saturday when he goes to fish in the mill-stream. I fear, rejoined 
Carrie, that he is more frequently angling over your palings than 
in the river, which, you appear to forget, lies about midway between 
his school and your cottage. But, seriously, my dear, I would gently 
caution you not to attach too much importance to "his attentions; 
for, believe me, any sentiments he may be silly enough to entertain 
for a village maiden, will, it is supposed, be discarded with his 
dreek and Latin when he leaves school, which I understand he is 
about to do sooner that he expected, since the recent death of a 
relative, leaving him sole heir to one million dollars. Besides if 
your mother were to discover it, she would be exceedingly angry. 
It is possible that May might have paused to cogitate upon the fact 
of Tcs not being absolutely necessary that Fred McKennan should 
pass uie cottage, it being almost a mile out of the direct road, on 
his way to the mill-stream, the academy students' fishing pond; or 



IN HIS NAME. 161 

that she might have reasoned a little upon the alleged analogy 
between love and the dead languages, and methinks tlie former can 
scarcely be classed with^.the latter; but the imputation conveyed in 
the closing sentence of Carrie's very edifying lecture gave a 
diiierent direction to May's reflections, and she instantly replied 
with considerable warmth, no, Carrie, you indeed mistake and 
greatly wrong me if you imagine for a nioment that I have one 
secret from my loving mother, and I repose all in confidence to 
her counsel and wishes. Carrie, she has tenderly cared, and un- 
ceasingly watched and nursed me in sickness; has borne with the 
petulance of my childhood, and the waywardness of my yovith; has 
ever been my truest, kindest, best of friends next to my heavenly 
Father, and shall I in return treat her with less confidence than 
many a sentimental girl gives to her school fellow? If I should 
ever harbor one secret, which I should fear to confide to my own 
dear mother, I shall be sure that it is a sinful one and I will pray 
earnestly to my good heavenly Father to deliver me from its power. 
With regard to this young gentleman, other than kindly I cannot 
feel otherwise towards one who has conferred upon me an obligation 
which I may not deem a light one; and should I ever entertain 
for him sentiments which I cannot cherish with propriety or safety, 
my mother, to whom my whole heart shall ever be wide and entirely 
open, will not fail to warn me of my danger. Carrie, who really dear- 
ly loved May forgetting the monition in the friend, threw her arms 
around her neck, implored her forgiveness for having unintentionally 
distressed her, and promised to never allude to the subject again. 
In a few months after this conversation Fred McKennan left the 
academy for the university, and year after year passed away, and 
each succeeding one found the circumstances of the widow and her 
daughter materially changed for the worse. The fashions had 
altered, and the articles of embroidery from the manufacture of 
which they had once derived a comfortable subsistence, was no 
longer, to use a mercantile phrase, in demand. Sweet May, whtf 
was a pattern of filial affection, then resorted to her needle in 
articles of sewing and unmurmuring, submitted to numberless priva- 
tions in order that the reverse of their little fortune might not 
be so greatly felt by her mother, whose age and appearing infirmities 
required attention and many comforts which were more than ever 
now beyond their reach. Still, notwithstanding all, pure love-lights 
brio-htened up the clouds that over-shadowed the sunshine, and 
real life bursted through the mist, disclosing its pretty picturesque 
unseparated ties. 



1G2 IN HIS NAME. 



In pictures are rendered the fairest tliat canvas an image of one 

may impart, 
But it cannot give what is real life itself, the look, the expression 

which springs from the heart; 
Ah no, though the figure and feature appear, yet not life, no pencil 

on earth can be given, 
The smile, tone and manners, the mind which endears are alone to 

to be traced by the fingers of heaven. 

One fine evening in the spring May was sitting at her needle- 
work in the garden, almost resigning herself to those gloomy 
feelings which her unpropitious circumstances so naturally produced, 
and which only religion, powerful as was its influence upon her 
heart and conduct could mitigate. 

Look, behold her as she sits where the light wind sighing flits, 

ihrough the trees whose boughs have made coolness and a pleasant 
shade. 

_ ar behind the mountain blue fadeth in the onward view. 

And the distant mill-stream wanders by \\ith its summer melody: 

Overhead are cloudless skies; flowers of everchanging dyes; 

Gem the verdant turf below with a rich and varied show. 

Patient child, meeting sorrows darkest hour with a calm and 
gentle power. 

Till the lengthened trials past, honor crowned her May queen at last. 

Beneath the flotsam of the years, harsh ruthless wrong and disap- 
pointing ill. 

Behold, the flowers of joy and peace to clasp at will. 

She was contrasting in her mind the present season of difticulty 
and apprehending distress with those past and happy days, when 
sue had little care upon her mind. Among other objects which the 
retrospect called up to fancy's view was the form of Fred McKennan, 
and she reflected upon the merry look and the courteous smile 
with which he was wont to greet her mother and her on a Saturday 
afternoon. But he has forgotten me, said May mentally, for the 
memory of their noble deeds dwells not long with the generous. 
She sighed and looked up towards the well and oft remembered 
spot in the fence of the garden, where he was most generally dis- 
posed to post himself -with his fishing-rod in his hand and basket 
belted under his arm, when lo. an apparition met her eyes which 
occasioned her to utter an exclamation of intense surprise and 
dropping her work, that she had been hastening to finish, she with 



IN HIS NAME. 163 



rapid steps and bewildered brain, hurried into the cottage, exclaim- 
ing, I am sure I do not know what there was to be so exceedingly 
alarmed and frightened at, for she might have paced the little 
village from midsumimei- to Christmas and not have met with a 
more handsome apparition. It was Fred McKennan in very flesh and 
blood. The occurrence of the few weeks which followed this ren- 
counter I am endeavoring to narrate, my chum made best use 
of his time,- quite evidently, by the result proving most satis- 
factory to himself in carrying oflt' the prize. The young millionaire 
was looking remarkably well as every one admitted that knew him 
as a school- boy of some by -gone years. How many warm hand- 
clasps were exchanged with the brave old hero of the academy; how 
happy all were to greet him again. He had come so unexpectedly 
and in an unostentatious manner to the village. Just like his 
characteristic, avoiding, if possible, publicity and parade, on his 
arrival had set out direct for the widow Sterrett's cottage, when 
May, upon preceiving a shadowy form advancing slowly and quietly 
towards her, and being startled by its sudden appearance, fled 
tremulously within her home; but shortly, when a gentle knock 
was heard at the cottage door, and observing her dog welcoming 
the stranger to its greatest delight, she began to believe that it 
must be her oft remembered friend, and so it proved, when she 
answered the repeated rap. How rejoiced she in reality was cannot 
be expressed in words, rather than "weeping may endure for a 
night but joy cometh in the morning."' He had not forgotten her. 
But could a man learn to love a woman in an hour? Love at 
first sight does not penetrate deep enough for true hearts. It 
floats on the surface, containing no substance but air, and the bubble 
soon bursts and disappears. All these years it had taken for Fred 
..icKennan to build his enriching foundation of love. He became so 
lonely, so forlorn and miserable, absented from the object of his 
sincerity, and the remembrance of her gilded iu'to his life like a 
sunoeam in a cell, to brighten his sorrows and enjoy his wealth of 
love and possessions. Some may deem it unreasonable, in- 
explicable, absurb, perhaps, but he loved her, loved her with all 
his heart. He thought of her sweet face with the crimson flood 
rushing over it when he in a polite way offered to conduct her 
home safely, after his encounter and gained conquest with the 
unmanly boy; and how modestly she with thanks accepted the pro- 
tecting offer, and reached her destination without further molesta- 
tion. Oh, it did not matter how suddenly or unexpectedly he made 
his appearance, it would not have mattered if he had never writien 
at all before, she belonged to liim, and he should claim her. He 



1G4 IN HIS NAME. 

went to call on her the next night and the next night, and tiK- 
next. She did not seem astonished at the suddenness of his passion. 
It appeared to them both as natural as the blossoming of the 
rose. They understood each other without the need of many worus. 
She gave him her love frankly and gladly. He was so happy that 
it did not seem possible he could be 'the same man. It was not like 
the same world either. His promised wife, everything. She was 
too pure and amiable for aught than his tender love and strong, 
protecting shelter. Sweet May, with her meek, dutiful grateful 
disposition, and as pretty as a picture. Two round velvety pearly 
cheeks, smooth as the sunny side of an apricot; two lovely, dreamy 
eyes of loveliest brown, shaded by long darkest silken fringes aijd 
hair of brown lighted with gold — a beauty of simplicity's budding 
into womanhood, in her charming, girlish loveliness personified. 
The snow drop of innocence and purity of the lily, and peaceful as 
the gentle dove. He asked some questions testingly and delighted 
in her answers, which told him in a dozen different ways how 
much she loved him. What would you do, he said, if you should 
hear from the most credible witness that I was faithless and 
unworthy of you? May looked at him for a moment, her dreamy 
brown eyes shining with love and trust and a smile beautiful as 
an angel's irradiaited her countenance. A smile such as had never 
before rested upon it since Fred McKennan had left their humble 
hamlet. Fred, she said, if the whole world unjustly represent you,, 
I would not believe it. He looked at her expressive eyes, sparkling 
with lustre, pondering upon the great love which the woman beside 
him gave to him, in silence, dumb before the miracle of such a 
possessed love, and then he remembered that just such a love was 
his to her, and a great flood of thankfulness rushed over his soul, 
accompanied by a look of gratitude that was almost adoration. 
The academy boy's fancy had developed into the man's ideal. 
Noblest and best of wouwn, then indeed there is nothing else for 
which I could wish. And you are now mine, all mine. May, forever 
and forever. I think he continued, that God has let true, lovely 
women love us in this world, adding reverently, to teach us about 
Him. This love which had come and made a new heaven and a 
new earth for him, this love, the most blessed holy thing in life. 
May's long lashes swept her glowing cheeks, the curls of gold veiled 
the half averted face; her mind was gradually unfolding beneath 
his judicious guidance. The love prompted contestant wins the 
race. Love is a gentle prompter to kind words and gentle smile, 
and earnestly and perseveringly she sought to prove the truth of 
the saying. She to him ^confided her hopes and aspirations, fears 



IN HIS NAME. 165 



and regrets. She wanted to make herself a worthy mate for her 
refined, talented and wealthy fiance husband. Very sweet was the 
sympathy and encouragement that she received in return. Her 
heart gave a great throb f«f joy at the realized happy possibility when 
Fred shortly would take her back to his own land, laden with honors. 
He will not be ashamed to acknowledge her who walks by his side 
as his wife and companion in the face of an envious and critical 
world. With the minuteness of a sun picture arose before her 
the scene in the eastern porch of the very first evening of his 
arrival; the descriptive of the day and landscape, and her girlish 
sensations, after her timidity of the apparition in the garden, in 
the enjoyment of these, the innocent thrill of the sensitive bliss that 
crept through her young limbs and veins, and moved her heart to 
recall the rhymic, soothing verses of the refrain she had then been 
humming in her solitude, the impassioned languor of the intona- 
tions that declared yearnings and unrest would now be things of the 
unforgotten past. Then she folded her hands together as she had 
done in childhood at her valued mother's knee and breathed within 
her soul the simple prayer. Helper and strength of the weak, succor 
those who strive to act aright, and make me a loving, faithful wife 
to him whom I have vowed to love; and that nothing might mar 
or deface the beautifying transparency of character; the obvious 
tenderness of emotion that constituted one of her rarest elements 
of loveliness that lingers between earth and heaven. In their lives 
she beheld a symphony of bloom, a springtide fief. 

"Breathing the allegro from each wave, 
Of glowing pink, while pulse the bars, 
Of andantino, where arise fair saintly stara, 
Of white whose pure unsullied tones 
Speak an evangel to the soul. 

Love and joy had arisen in her breast after what had seemed 
to her to be the very chill of death. Now to them both heaven 
and earth appeared one. The bond of love between them never 
slackened; for each other it has been a mutual solace, and their 
joy lacks words to measure by expression or description. She 
was very winning. With all the sensitiveness and delicate percep- 
tions of a gifted mind; with the nice sensibilities of a virtuous 
mother's training; the varied mental endowments of the carefully 
cultured which was rewarded by a dear and blessed daughter. 

When the voice is low and tender like to sweet celestial lyres. 
And the soft brown eyes are gleaming bright as holy altar fires; 



160 IN HIS NAME. 



When the pearly cheek is glowing richly as a crimson rose, 
At the sight of one, ah surely, these are tokens each one knows. 

So that our hearts are one and true, the world may smile or frown. 

For you and me, we ask no gift but love, sweet love; 

"Neath moon of silver or sun of gold, 

Go where we will your hand in mine, 

And dreamy brown eyes before me shining thus, 

Through joy and ill, through storm and shine. 

There is a little world of love for us. 

How fair and sweet she was in her costume of rich dark bhu; 
silk velvet, with plumed hat of similar material, bringing out the 
bright gold-brown of her silken hair, the rose and lily of her 
dazzling fine complexion, and completed with her sacque of seal, 
a charming life of beauty. Xn wonder he had given his trust and 
love into the keeping of this radiant vision. O what a happy 
foresight of life it was; to the last hour of their lives they remem- 
bered it. 

The beauty of life in all its forms cannot be separated from its 
excellence. It is the fleetness of the greyhound: the strength and 
spirit of the horse; the gentleness of the dove that makes them 
beautiful in our eyes. The human countenance wrii ultimately 
portray the soul that dwells witliin and the constant presence of 
love will transform it into beauty long after the roses of youth 
have paled their bloom. So is it with character. Certainly nothing 
can be added as an ornament after character has been established. 
It is the simple and natural expression of goodness, which can be 
no more imitated than the rainbow in the sky. Wlien right doing 
ceases to be a painful duty, and comes to be a delight preferable to 
others, then doth the beauty of character flower forth in rich and 
fragrant profusion. 



THE LOG HEARTH. 

Our old home farm upon the hill, 

Where the evening's shadows wing so dark and still; 

And the Maderia vines wander sweetly, 

O'er the white robed window sill. 



IN HIS NAME. 



167 



And the sparrows, whip-poor-wills and bob-whites, 
Eagerly and swiftly flew to greet me, 
From their nests hid in the trees, 
Down in the thickets of Wolf Run. 

O the days that were so free from care, 
And a paternal face there smiled upon me, 
From that cherished Morris chair, 
Now, alas, 'tis only visionary. 

And that kindred face is from view hid, 

Where the marble slab is gleaming; 

And. the tiny waving grass amid. 

All, all in reality being. ■ 



And I may look and look around me. 

Now there is no answer to my call; 

And my father's voice I hear not. but the cricket's, 

By his vacant, lonely log hearth. 

There's no smile, no hand to greet me, 
For 'twas his last home here on earth; 
Oh, how oft his footsteps plodded. 
Up the hill and down the run. 

Then let me dream while life shall linger, 
Happy visions of the gone-by past 
Hover round me like an angel whisper. 
Till I reach my heavenly home at last. 

There God, our Lord, alone, 

Possesseth empire without bounds; 

With honor Thou art crowned. Thy throne 

Eternal majesty suiTounds. 

With light God doth Himself enrobe. 
And glory for His garment take; 
Heaven's curtains stretch beyond the globe. 
The canopy of state to make. 

He builds on liquid air and fonns 

His palace chambers in the skies; 

The clouds His chariots are, and storms 

The swift winged steeds with which He Ries, 



1(5S ■ IN HIS NAME. 



As bright as flame, as swift as wind, 

His ministers heaven's pahice lills; 

They have their sundry tasks assigned, 

All prompt to do, in His name, their Sovereign's wil 

'lis God that works to will, 
'Tis He that works to do; 
His is the power by which we act, 
His be the glory, too. 

Ye boundless realms of joy, 

Exalt your Maker's name; 

His praise your highest songs employ, 

Above the starry frame. 

Thou moon that rulest the night 
And sun that guid'st the day; 
Ye glittering stars of light. 
To Him your homage pay. 

His praise declare, ye heavens above, 
And clouds that move in vaporous aeriform : 
May all adore our Lord Jesus Christ, 
Singing praises in His name. 

By whose almighty word. 

They all from nothing came; 

And all from '"dust to dust" return at last : 

His firm decree stands ever fast. 

And duly shall appear 

In , verdure, beauty, strength. 

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear. 

And the full shock of corn at length. 

Thou canst not toil in vain; 
Cold, heat and moist and dry. 
Shall foster and mature the grain 
For garners in the sky. 

Then let me wing my hallowed flight, ' 

From earth-born trials, grief and care; 
And soar above these clouds of night. 
Our blessed Saviour's bliss to share. 



IN HIS NAME. 169 



LOVE'S REWARD; OR, THE FOUR "WEEKS VISIT 
TO RICHLAND. 

You go on your visit today, brother Reward, 1 understand, and 
i want the keepsake you promised me, said Coral Merritt, a bright- 
eyed, rosy cheeked girl of sixteen, to her brother, who was fixing 
a small pocket pistol while around him lay a pair of ball-moulds, a 
shot-pouch and a powder flask. But what are you doing You are 
not going to take that old pistol with you surely, dear, dear brother? 
Yes, but, am, sister, replied he. This old pistol, as you call it, 1 
expect, perhaps, will be the means of making my fortune. Be the 
means of your death, more likely, I am afraid, retorted she sorrow- 
fully. O don't take it with you, brother. Some accident may hap- 
pen. It may burst or go oft' and kill you. Reward Merritt stojjped 
a moment and looked up at his sister, who stood by his side, and he 
saw tears standing in her eyes. Why, Coral, said he, what dangers 
you imagine. Y^ou need not fear. The old pistol will never do any 
luirt to me. I have not yet loaded it or fired it; but I want to 
when 1 get to my uncle's in the country. But here, you may take 
a lock of my hair for a keepsake if you are afraid you will never 
see me again, and he laughingly held his head towards her. May 
our heavenly Father grant that I will see you again, replied Coral; 
but. brother, that would be a choice keepsake, and she took her 
scissors, whicli hung by a silver chain from her belt, and clipped 
oft' a lock of Reward's hair, the longest she could find. There, said 
she, I will keep that until you get mai'ried and make your fortune, 
and then give it to your wife, if that old pistol does not make a 
cripple of you and prevent sxich an event. I do wish you would ^throw 
the useless, dangerous instrument away. Coral, I it ell you this 
old pocket pistol will be the means of aft'ording me a great deal 
of pleasure, and the instrument, probably, of making my fortune. 
Remember sister, what I tell you; and he continued his work of 
cleaning and fixing. His sister turned and left him, saying she could 
not conceive what pleasure could be derived from an old pocket 
pistol, nor any prospects of its being the means of making his for- 
tune or any other person's. Reward and Coral Merritt were the 
son and daughter of a. respectable hardware dealer In New Jersey, 
who though not rich, yet was well off and doing a comfortable 
business. Reward was about twenty-two years of age; had grad- 
uated from college, and ere he commenced the study of law, a 
profession he intended to pursue, was going to spend a few weeks 
in the country at his uncle's, living in the interior of Richland near 
the Pennsylvania line. Fishing, hunting and rambling through 



170 IN HIS NAME. 



woods and fields he Avas not much accustomed to; yet he anticipated 
fine sport, and left home in excellent spirits for an absence of 
four weeks. The old uncle whom he visited had no children, and 
he had been a widower for some ten or twelve years, having with 
him as housekeeper, a widowed sister of his deceased wife, a Mrs. 
Arlington. The old gentleman, Reward's uncle, received him with 
all the hearty welcome of a man fond of his relations, and more 
particularly so, as Reward was a favorite, being named after him. 
He had not seen him for several years, and was surprised at viewing 
a handsome, dignified built young man, large enough, as he said, to 
lift a barrel of cider into the wagon, or to mow all day; and he 
chuckled and laughed heartily as he turned round, exclaiming, 
Reward, my boy, you are stout enough for a farmer. No doubt 
I aim, uncle, replied Reward, and you will find I can do justice to 
farmer's fare likewise, as just at that minute Mrs. Arlington an- 
noimced that dinner was ready, and he followed his uncle to the 
table, where a large dish of beef, with sundry kinds of vegetables, 
such as turnips, potatoes and cabbage were smoking by its side. 
The uncle had no fault to find with his nephew for not doing ample 
justice to his table, (after a blessing had been asked), as a day and 
a night's ride over a rough road, and several hours fasting had. 
though he was somewhat fatigued, given him a fine appetite; also 
the same for the later on served desert was enjoyed and partaken. 
After dinner the old gentleman retired and took a nap, and Re- 
ward sauntered off into the woods, and from thence strayed to a 
piece of woodland through which murmured a purling brook, where 
on the margin he seated himself, watching the little ripples of 
the stream, and noticed occasionally the darting glimpse of a 
speckled trout which seemed to catch his shadow and then vanish 
from his sight. For some time he amused himself in looking at 
the stream and in witnessing also the gambols of a gray squirrel 
that alternately leaped from the trunk of a fallen tree that was 
near and then ascended the body of one ithat was standing, and 
after an absence of a moment would be seen again on the fallen 
tree. He remembered his pocket pistol and wished he had brought 
it Avith him, imagining he might shoot the nimble animal. At 
length he arose, and crossing the brook, wandered through the 
woods until he came to a large tract of cleared land at the 
extremity of his uncle's domains. As he leaped from a fence into 
an open field he heard a sudden screani-, when looking forward he 
saw a young woman, her golden tresses streaming from 
her headi, and her calico bonnet hanging from her neck, running 
as if for life, uttering loud piercing cries. In one hand she held a 



IN HI8 XAME. 171 



basket and in the other a stout stick behind her. From the dis- 
tance he was oiT he could see nothing. Her screams, however, 
aroused him, and he sprang forward to meet her. As they neared 
each other he discovered an enormous black snake of .the racer 
breed with his head erect. He had a white ring around his neck, 
and was close upon her. The snake seemed to move with velocity, 
about one-third of its length ere<it above the ground. Its eyes 
shone like two sparks of fire, and with mouth open and forked 
tongue protruded, it seemed intent on its victim. Reward had 
nevtr seen a snake of this species before, but he knew that their 
, bite was harmless, yet their powerful coil dangerous. The country 
lass, who he supposed, might be about nineteen years of age, seemed 
frightened almost to distraction. She was pale and colorless and 
appeared ready to drop to the earth, as he came up and sprang 
between her and the snake, seizing the stick ti'om her hand as 
he passed. A few feet only separated the girl from the swift 
serpent as he jumped between them; and ere he was aware of it, 
the reptile was coiling around one of his ankles, and winding its 
way up his body. Reward Merritt was unused to fear, and in 
imagination believed he could face anything; yet a cold kind of 
feelhig ran over him for an instant at the discovery that the snake 
was wiling around him; but he recovered himself in a moment and 
bo.uly seized the serpent below the head with one hand with a 
view of destroying it in his nervous grasp. On seizing it the snake 
instantly uncoiled itself from his lower limb, and In spite of his 
exertions oraduallv worked itself through his firm grasp by im- 
wndiately "coiling its lower part around his arm, winding its folds 
so tight .as to pain him. Throwing down his stick in vam he 
strove to tear .the reptile from his arm with his other hand, for its 
tenacious grasp baffled all his strength in the effort. As Reward 
sprang past the girl she had stopped and turned around and stood 
pantin- from the exertion of running, gazing with horror depicted 
on her'countenance at the sight of the snake writhing and struggling 
in his iron grasp. Finding he could not tear it from his arm, Reward 
felt for his pocket knife; but with one hand he could not open the 
blade and he held it towards her, requesting that she would open it. 
Trembling she approached, and putting her basket on the ground, 
took the knife from his hand and opened the blade. In the mean- 
time Reward grasped with both hands the snake that was gradually 
slipping through his clutch. The young woman's terror seemed to 
abate now and as he held the reptile with both hands, he di- 
rected her 'to cut it from his arm, when in an instant she inserted 
the blade of the knife between one or two of the coils, at once 



172 IN HIS NAME. 



severing the snake into three parts, wljicli relaxed its tenacity, and 
fell to the ground where Reward threw the part remaining in his 
hands also to the earth and briefly dispatched all remains of life 
lU the dissevered pieces. He had now tiuiie to look at the girl, to 
whose rescue from a horrid death, perhaps, he iuid fortunately 
arrived. She was neatly attired in a home-made striped calico dress, 
fitted to her light graceful form. Her head and neck were covered 
oy her sun-bonnet and cape, wliicli were very prettily made ot 
the same material as the dross. Her dark, expressive eyes now 
glistened with pleasure, as he stepped towards her and took up 
her basket, which he discovered was nearly full of delicious looking 
strawberries which she had been gathering. Without alluding to 
the recent scene he smilingly complimented her on her success in 
gathering so many luxurious berries, and taking three or four out, 
he ate them, praising their flavor. Still holding her basket, he 
then in a gentlemanly manner requested that he might carry it, 
and see her safe to where she was going. The crimson that mantled 
her face vied with the color of the fruit she had been picking, as 
she bowed and thanked him, modestly yet timidly replying that 
she was so frightened that coiujiany home would be a favoi': and 
Reward followed the artless girl, and they crossed the 
field together towards the road that bounded the farm 
of his uncle. Where did you gather these delicious berries, 
Miss, asked he. Pardon me, 1 do not know your name, or I should 
address j'ou by it. Kove Joy is my name, she quickly replied. W^e 
live a short distance down the road. The strawberries I gathered 
in the field adjoining the one you saw me in, which I was crossing, 
intending to carry them to j\lrs. Arlington for the nephew of Mr. 
ilerritt, who she told me he expected this evening from Harlem 
to pay hinn, a visit. They are quite a treat to people from the city. 
Indeed, then, Miss Love, these strawberries were intended for me: 
for my name is Reward Merritt. and I am the nephew of Mr. 
Merrit, to whose house you were going. Love blushed and looked 
down, casting a side glance at 'him. rather pleased, though a little 
coniused at what she had said: and she tried to mend the matter 
by saying that IMrs. Arlington was going with ..or. iiul when she 
called in the morning she could not spare the time, and begged 
of her to not fail to bring all she gathered. Reward laughed pleas- 
antly, and told her she could go with them yet to his uncle's, 
adding lie should certainly now claim a part of her berries. And 
cannot you eat them at my mother's just as well? We have some 
very nice maple sugar and sweet cream, and mother, 1 know, will 
not be ollVuiled at mv brinsiiui;- vou there, seeing how viui have 



IX HIS NAME. 173 



been so kind to me. You will go, won't you. Mr '! asked she, 

looking earnestly and innocently up into his face. Call me Reward 
Merritt, Love, I do not feel exactly old enough to be a staid Mr. 
yet. Yes I will go to j^jur mother's with you; but you need not 
tell her about the snake, because I am afraid she will not let you 
go after berries again, said he, smiling at her earnest tenderness of 
hospitality to Iflm. never fear that, Mr. Reward, quickly returned 
she. Mother will let me go if she knows who my company is, and her 
handsome eyes sparkled with pleasure. There, there is Mr. again. 
Do call me plain Reward, and leave the Mr. off, exclaimed he, 
looking coaxingly at her. Well, then. Reward, Reward Merrit, 
which shall I call you; tell me? asked she, and for the first time 
her imusical laugh rang loud over the fields. It is so odd to call a 
gentleman only just by his plain, first name. But Love, said he, I 
am no old man yet, and plain Reward suits me best. My sisters, 
Anna, when living, and Coral, always call me so, and now I am away 
from home I want some one to remind me of Coral. I think your 
red cheecks and your dreamy eyes resemble her's very much. Do 
they, answered she. Then I will call you Reward; and she blushed, 
she knew not why, as they passed along. Love was pretty .She was 
what may be termed a beautiful girl of the beauty unadorned type. 
In her rustic habiliments of simplicity, and the excitement of the 
scene she passed through, and the exercise of running, together with 
the warm weather, had given an additional color to her fine formed 
countenance, which, when she was smiling, showed two rows of 
regular, beautiful white teeth, peeping from beneath a pair of 
cherry lips, while a slight dimple played on one of her fresh 
biooming cheeks. Reward, as he gazed at hei*, was completely 
struck with surprise at seeing so much real beauty in the country. 
He considered his sister handsome, but Love was prettier just 
then in his eyes. As they walked on they talked of wild flowers 
and birds, honey bees and grey squirrels, until they came to the 
fence by the road, where they could see the little white house, the 
residence of Mrs. Joy, Love's mother. It was partly hidden by 
several large, noble bearing trees, but one white end was peeping 
out through the foliage. Here Reward handed the basket to Love, 
that contained the tempting strawberries, and clambered over, 
evidently evincing that he was a novice at the leaping of fences. 
Then he let down the bars with gallant politeness, assisted her 
through, and replacing the long piece of board in its usual fastenings, 
they went on. A moment or two now brought them to Mrs. Joy's 
cottage, and Love, pushing open the front door, took Reward into 
the best room, and handing him a chair, hastily untied her pretty 



174 ' IN HIS NAME. 



sun-bonnet, and holding it in her hand requesting him to raise one 
of the windows if he wished, while she would call her mother. 
Keward did as he was requested, and seating himself took a survey 
oi the humble apartment, so different from his own spacious parlors 
richly furnished at nome. In one corner of the snug little room 
stood an old fashioned clock, which was ticking away, the hour 
hand pointing to nearly five. Eight or ten wooden chairs, painted 
black and flowered with yellow were set around the room. Between 
the two front windows hung a mahogany-framed looking glass with 
a landscape painting at the top, and over the whole of which 
was a piece of green gauze. In the fireplace on one side of the 
room was a large bunch of green ivy bushes, interspersed with wild 
flowers, and on the bushes were fastened about a dozen blown egg- 
shells that had been dipped in melted beesAvax, looking yellow and 
presenting the appearance of lemons hanging among the green 
leaves. On the mantel piece were two brass candle sticks, which 
shone like burnished gold, and standing by the jambs of the fire- 
place stood a pair of andirons with urn-shaped brass tops. A bright 
home-made striped rag carpet, looking as if just new, was on the 
floor; and under the quaint old looking glass stood a cherry table 
Avitli a polish of beeswax, shining equal to any high-finish, while in 
one corner of the room stood a bureau and desR combined, it 
answering the double purpose, and on the top was a book case, 
about half-filled with books. These articles and an old fashioned 
round-top stand with a large family Bible covered with green 
baize constituted all the furniture of the best room. An ancient 
painting of a man with powdered hair in the olden costume of small 
clothes, shoes with large buckles, ruffled wristbands, a long-waisted 
coat with large buttons, was hung on the whitewashed wall, on 
one side of the room, while over the mantel piece were two or 
three gilt frames hanging against the chimney, containing profiles 
cut from paper and placed on black silk, showing the side of the 
form of faces. Reward has scarcely cast his casual survey over the 
room when Love again made her appearance, accompanied by her 
mother. The old lady was dressed in a black calico dress, over 
which was a check apron tied around her waist. Though her coun- 
tenance looked care-worn and somewhat old, yet there were traces 
of beauty still remaining on her face. As she entered the room, 
ixeward immediately arose and was introduced to Mrs. Joy by 
Love. The old lady bowed respectfully, smoothing down her trim 
starched apron as she took a seat apposite him. Mrs. Joy, like 
many old ladies, was talkative. The name of his was quite familiar 
to her. She remembered his father and mother when they were 



IN HIS NAME. 175 



married. What an interesting, pretty little boy he was when a 
baby. How handsome his father used to be, and it seemed to her 
mat he resembled him uncommonly. All of Avhich Reward listened 
to and laughed and hurfiored the pleasant old widow lady, praising 
her tidy little house, and complimenting her daughter Love. In the 
interval Love had changed her home-made cotton dress for a 
new neat light colored lawn one, and was seen flying around in 
the adjoining room, and in a few moments came in and moved out 
the cherry table, spreading over it a table cloth that vied in 
whiteness with the pure snow and as if by magic soon had it covered 
with tea thmgs, with the accompaniments of a blue bowl of rich cream 
and a huge dish of strewberries; and Reward also obsen^ed that 
her best dress was well protected by a white girlish made apron. 
Her hair, which had hung in dishevelled tresses when they arrived, 
was now neatly combed and hung down behind in one thick braid 
caught with a bit of scarlet ribbon, with a full blush, rose 
pinned among a cluster of soft babyish curls on one of her temples. 
Love, I see, has set the table, said the old lady, addressing Reward. 
Her straAvberries will be a treat to you, I presume, and leading 
the way they sat down and then the mother reverently asked a 
blessing. Love poured the tea and helped him to strawberries 
and cream. To say that Reward Merritt did not enjoy himself 
would be belieing his looks and feelings. He was perfectly en- 
raptured, and after spending a most delightful hour, he rose to 
depart. Love and her mother accompanied him to the door, the 
latter thanking him for the kindness tendered to her daughter, 
cordially invited him to call at her house and receive a wann 
welcome if he chanced to be coming anyAvhere near in that direction. 
In return for the favor he made Love promise that on the morrow 
she would be ready to go -with him and gather strawberries provided 
he would escort her safely home; she replied she would 
ask her mother, and she having no objection, consent 
was cheerfully given. On Reward's return to his uncle's 
the old gentleman was inquisitive and anxious to know where he 
had been, intending to send one of the farm hands in search of him 
if his absence had been further prolonged. But Reward evasively 
answered, telling, however, all the places he^ had wandered over, 
at the same time studiously avoiding all mention of his adventure 
with Love Joy. It leaked out notwithstanding the next day by the 
way of Mrs. Arlington, who early called on Love to go after berries, 
supposing by her not bringing any the day previous that she did 
not gather any; because she could not conveniently at the time 
being accompany her: and she artlessly told the lady about the 



IN HIS NAME. 



snake scene, and of Reward's accompanying hei' home. Every 
pleasant day, when not too warm, for a week or two, Reward and 
J^ove were ott' gathering strawberries. Sometimes Mrs. Arlington, 
tlie young widow housekeeper of his uncle, joined them. Each had 
a basket and Mrs. Arlington competed with Love in gathering the 
greatest quantity, always getting her basket full first; not so much 
as from her being more e.xpert as from other little circumstances 
such as that if Love came aei'oss a spot where the berries were 
thick, she called Reward, who not being very dextrous, filled his 
basket slowly, and directed him to the thickest clusters and collec- 
tions, and then half joking and other little innocent causes he would 
occasionally take a handful from her own basket and put them into 
his; and again she frequently had to stop and listen to some little 
story of his; and sometimes when picking side by side she was 
obliged to playfully push Reward away as his fingers were sure to 
come in contact with hers in every berry she attempted to have 
plucked for her basket, and enjoy the pleasure of eating them 
himself with smiling glances at Love. Every rainy and unpleasant 
day Reward was sure to go fishing in the brook which ran along 
near j\Irs. Joy"s house, and to be gone all day; yet he never caught 
a chub or trout, but might have been seen, instead of being on the 
margin of the brook angling for fish, to be sitting alongside of Love 
in tlu^ loom where she was weaving: helping her tie the threads, fix 
tlie ([iiills in the shuttle; and when he went away would always 
boast to ^Irs. Joy how nuicli Love and himself had wove. But 
tlu^ old lady averred that with all his help Love did not weave 
scarcely any when he was there, and occasionally told her so when 
she went into the room and saw how little she had accomplished. 
The four weeks of Reward's vacation visit to his uncle expired, 
and he was to go the next morning. He never knew so short a 
montli. and T^ove who dreamed of nothing but Reward, wondered 
wliy Ik' should stay so short a time. Then I shall never see you 
again, cousin Reward, said Love, when he told her he was going; 
for they had added the endearing name of cousin to each other for 
that kind of feeling that existed between or as a substitute for a 
more tender title. And you will forget your cousin Love when you 
get to the city. I wish you had never come to visit your uncle. 
And she leaned her head downwards with a plaintive deep sigh. 1 
shall never forget you, cousin Love, replied Reward. Have you no 
relations in the city that you might one day visit, because then 1 
could come and see you. In that way I might have the opportunity 
and hnppiness of being your city cousin Reward, to first welcome 
your arrival. Alas, I know not, sobbed the heart-breaking girl, but 



IN HIS NAME. 177 

then if I had it would not be like seeing you here. I don't want 
yuu to go away at all, and then I ana only a poor country girl, and 
you will move among the rich. It is right, I suppose, for us now 
to imrt; but Reward, you will think of me, and remember me in 
your prayers as I Avill for you, wont you? and the beautiful though 
sad face looked up into his serious one, with tears streaming down 
her cheeks. Yes I will do as you say, and love you too, answered 
he pathetically. At last he bade her farewell, telling Her always 
to remember him and that he would never forget her. • The next 
day by the roots of a stately old oak, (that king of the forest), 
and one of the large trees in front of their cottage, on the spot 
where she had so recently parted with Reward, Love found a small 
pocket pistol. She knew it belonged to him for it had the initials 
of his name, "R. M.,'"' rudely marked on a small silver plate on 
the stock. She took it and put it in her trunk, resolving to keep it 
until she again perhaps saw him. She believed in her mother's 
faith that all things will work together for good to them that love 
and serve the Lord. The little newly discovered pistol would be a 
kind of remembrance, though she felt she needed nothing just then 
to keep him in her recollection. A little wad of paper was stuffed 
in the muzzle of the pistol, which Love was made aware of on 
examining it, as she put it into her trunk, and as it was probably 
put there by Reward she did not remove it, as everything now 
that related to him in her possession was a treasure to her. 
Love's parents were English, who had come to this country early 
and located on the sjjot where her mother now resided. They were 
in moderate circumstances and this was their only child. Mrs. 
Joy had been a widow about seven years, her husband having for 
some years before his death been out of health, so that when he 
died there was little left for his wife and daughter. They, how- 
ever, with great prudence and economy and industry, managed to 
live in the same house, and with the help of a cow and about a 
couple of acres of cleared land, and the profits realized from weaving 
got along quite comfortably. This was their means and situation 
when Reward Merritt became acquainted with Love. About a 
year rolled on after Reward made his visit to his uncle. He had 
commenced the study of law, and amid his studies, healthful amuse- 
ments and harmless pleasures, with exception of remembering Love, 
seemed to be engrossed in his own interests and pursuits to even 
during the elapse of time to have paid her a brief flying visit or a 
letter token. When the idea would come to him something would, 
as chance seemed, move in his pathway, would interfere and thus 
prevent all concerning. It is true occasionally some little incident 



178 IN HIS NAME. 



would remind him of the guileless, simple strawberry-girl, who had 
so enraptured him, and for the first time enlisted the tender feelings 
,of love in his breast; and though at such times some misgivings of 
conscience would come over him for awakening in her gentle bosom 
of purity hopes of his lasting attachment; yet he excused himself 
and would as much as possible endeavor to banish the recollection 
of her from his mind. When he first returned from his visit he 
spoke in rapture of Love to his sister Coral, and described her as 
one his memory could linger on with delight. She would joke him 
frequently of his country lass, the love-lorn maiden and often re- 
minded him of his extravagant encomiiims he bestowed on her, 
indulging in not a little sport and ridicule, so much that he refrained 
from writing or visiting her. Nevertheless all the dear recollec- 
tions of his visit would sometimes rise up before him, and he 
laughingly admit, though only to let his sister see it did not annoy 
him by her unfavorable remarks of his remembered one, that Love 
would one day, perhaps, become her sister. In the meantime Love, 
by the way of Mrs. Arlington, who still resided at Reward's 
uncle's, learned that he was studying law, and though she never 
expected to see him again; but true love works wonders even if it 
don't run smooth; she continued to cherish his image in her recollec- 
tions. One day she was rather depressed in spirits. Her mother 
had gone to assist a neighbor in Avhose bounty they were continually 
sharing, and she was left alone at home. She went to her trvmk 
for something which she wanted and in removing some articles to 
find it lifted out accidentally Reward's pocket pistol, which lay 
among them. It fell on the floor and suddenly exploded, startling 
her so much that it was some moments ere she recovered herself 
sufficiently to pick it up. She never dreamed when she put it there 
that it was loaded, and the reflection that something serious might 
have occurred made her feel thankful that she had escaped injury. 
Picking up the pistol from the floor, she stood looking at at, as she 
frequently did when visiting her trunk; and she remembered Re- 
ward, and the tears gathered in her eyes. All at once the smoke 
of burning paper arrested her attention and .ihe ascertained that 
the wadding that had been discharged from the loaded instrument 
was smoking in one corner of the room. She instantly ran and 
put it out, and glancing on the floor near the now extinguished wad, 
saw the little roll of paper that was in the muzzle of the pistol. 
Looking at it a moment she carefully picked it up and discovering 
that there was printing on it, unrolled the kind of stopple and 
stood by the window listlessly casting her eyes over what was 
on it. 'It seemed to be a piece of an old newspaper, torn from 



IN HIS NAME. 179 



amon<^ the advertisements that had been printed a year or two 
previous As her eyes thoughtlessly ran over some of the old notices 
they rested on the following: "Information Wanted: -Information 
is wanted respecting the whereabouts or place of residence of one 
Jeremiah Joy and his wife and child, who emigrated to this country 
from England some years since, the place of their location not 
beino- known by their friends. Any one knowing the family will 
confer a favor on them by sending information to this office or 
the family will learn something of great importance to them by 
callin- at - Broadway, New York." This, in addition, was duly 
sio-ned and dated as a public advertisement. What could it mean? 
The information required most certainly alluded to their family 
Love was not born when they came to this country, but she had 
frequently heard her late father, and also her mother, talk of their 
friends on the other side, regretting that all communication was sus- 
pended, and they and their connections were at so great a distance 
from each other. She read the notice over and over again and longed 
for her mother to come home. As it drew towards night, she stood in 
the door and watched for her coming, and so impatient was she that 
minutes seemed as hours to her. At length Love observed her 
mother far up the road, slowly wending her way home and she 
could not wait until she arrived, but ran oS to meet her. The 
old widow lady saw Love running towards her and could not for 
her life imagine what was the matter. Love soon, hou-ever, came up 
and in hurried accents communicated the contents of tbe referred 
advertisement she had discovered. Mrs. Joy was surprised beyond 
measure. There could be no doubt but that they were the persons 
sought for. Her deceased husband, she knew, was a connection 
of a wealthy family of the same name in England, and in his 
lly lys it was Lpposed that he would inherit an estate ot 
ome thousands on the death of a relative, but that relative they 
heTrd had died and it was said that he left the property to another. 
After a day or two advising it was decided that Love should pro^ 
feed to New York City and make application at the place designated 
nihl advertisement, and accordingly preparations were made for 
her to go on the important expedition. Unused to traveling and 
Lexperifnce, Love knew nothing of the ways of the world. There 
"ere four passengers in the cars in which she took passage to New 
York that were seated nearest to her, all males; two of them 
It; aged respectable looking gentlemen, and ^^^ ^t^^rj^o .eje 
ouite y^ung men. Her youthful appearance and pretty looks 
^^rLrat^tention from the youths, and tl^-r curious gaze^ mad 
her feel rather unpleasant and diffident, so she turned aside her 



180 IN HIS NAME. 



liead and became interested in reading an instructive book she had 
brought along for leisure moments. After several hours, however, 
one of the elderly gentlemen, a Quaker from Flushing, Long Island, 
N. Y., who knew the conductor in the train under whose protection 
she had been consigned, inquired of him his young charge, who gave 
...m full particulars. This old gentleman then felt interested for 
her, and when the train stopped at New York, was permitted to 
kindly take her under his charge, and in a Christian benevolent 
manner paying kindly attention to her, and what she needed during 
the several changes, as he lived in the city and was familiar with 
its suri-oundings, on their ariival in it the ne.xt day. Here her estim- 
able Quaker friend, after getting her a room at the Astor House, 
one of the finest first-class hotels in the city for home comfort 
and respectability, (the same of the Holland House), and ordering 
her small trunk carried to it, left her, after giving her his card with 
name and address if she should require his services or advice, and he 
wished her and her mother success in -their expectations. He then 
bade her good by and departed. Love remained in her room, and 
early in the evening, after committing her mother, herself and the 
oft-remembered one of by-gone days to the great Author if that 
Providence, "He who doeth all things well," soon was fast asleep, 
waking much refreshed and rested on the following morning. She 
arose early, so as to be ready to go out and transact the business ot 
her journey. She soon finished her toilet, and beginning 
...e day with God by reading a portion of Scripture from a Bible 
laying on a table in her room, and saying her prayers, she was 
directed by one who answered her bell to the spacious dining room, 
and partook of a most excellent breakfast. The room she occupied 
looked into the street, and was above the offices, and just as she 
had got ready to go out, she heard voices below, one of them say- 
ing, here take my card up to her. I know it must be a lady I have 
seen, and in a moment more she was surprised by a servant at her 
door, who handed her a card with the name of Reward Merritt 
written on it. where is he? she involuntarily exclaimed, as she 
saw the name, and confused and overjoyed, she looked at the 
servant entreatingly. He is below. Madam, in the parlor, answered 
the servant. Shall I tell him you will see him? O do, she hastily 
and innocently replied, and the servant stared at her and left the 
room. How fortunate this is, joyfully murmured she to herself, 
and in a few minutes more she had closed the door after 
her and stood in the presence of Reward Merritt. Reward 
had come in from Manhasset and Moriches, Long Island. 
New York, early that morning, and accidentally stopping 



IN HIS NAME. 181 



at the hotel, saw the name of Love Joy on the register 
book and had immediately inquired for her. It took but a few 
moments for Love to tell Reward what brought her to the city; 
Lue circumstances of her discovering the notice on the piece of old 
newspaper, and the probability that it was for them, the name of 
her late father and the other members of the ramily in number 
all corresponding. After the excitement of their meeting had a 
little subsided, Reward accompanied Love to the place mentioned 
in the advertisement, and hearing the particulars, his surprise and 
joy were scarce less than hers, on ascertaining that the fact was a 
large legacy in funds had been left to her father in England. In 
ease of his death it was to go to his heirs, of which love was 
the only one. After putting her business in a proper shape. Reward 
took Love home to his mother and sister, introducing her, relating 
the object of her visit to the city, her success, and the prospect of 
her becoming an heiress to a splendid fortune. The Merritt 
family received Love as an acquaintance of Reward's, tendering her 
every attention possible, and as she had necessarily to stay in the 
city a few days she made their house her home. Reward's law 
studies, somehow, for a few days failed to draw him to the office. 
He found it more agreeable to be with his sister Coral and Love 
than to be pouring over musty law books. He was attending a 
suit at home, and he gained his cause, for ere Love left they had 
exchanged vows. The morning after Reward had won his suit, 
as he was making a confident of his sister alone by themselves, 
Love accidentally came into the room just as Coral was saying 
to her brother, and where is that old pistol that has blown to light 
the fortune of your beloved? where is my pistol, Love? asked 
Reward, looking towards her. I told Coral that it would be the 
instrument of making a fortune. Love blushed at the tell-tale looks 
of Reward as she replied, it has indeed been a fortunate instrument 
and she went to get the pistol out of her trunk. Love did not 
return home unaccompanied, and on Reward's third visit to see his 
uncle, some number of months later, she returned to the city with 
him as his bride. Coral, who had now indeed got a sister in Reward's 
pretty strawberry-girl, as she eimbraeed her as his wife, delivered 
over the lock of hair, adding, here ,Love is your husband's keep- 
sake to me. I was to hand it over when he got married. Love 
took the lock of hair, kissed and returned it again to Coral, saying 
that as she had Reward himself she could well spare that much of 
him, requesting her to keep it in remembrance of Tier brother and 
for her sake, and laughingly clipping off one of her own golden 
rurls which she presented, told her she could now have a part 



182 IN HIS NAME. 



of each, hoping she would never love them less for the keepsake. 
Reward Merritt finished his law studies and became quite eminent 
at the bar. In after years, when a young black-eyed, cherry- 
cheeked little Blossom Merritt, who was playing with her hand- 
some dolls and toys around him, and Love becoming tired of her 
playthings said, Come, papa, please tell me a pretty story. He 
related the preceeding, and when she had listened and asked the 
name of the story, he laughed and sent her to ask her blushing 
mamma, telling her he believed it was called "Love's Reward."' 




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